eee SPANIC NOTES? 
fee MONOGRAPHS 


Pe NSULAR SERIES 


HISPAN Re 


DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
DURHAM, N. C. 


HISPANIC.<SOCIETS 


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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2023 with funding from 
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PENINSULAR SERIES5 


‘OF AMERICA 


HISPANIC 


NOTES & MONOGRAPHS 


ESSAYS, STUDIES, AND BRIEF 
BIOGRAPHIES ISSUED BY THE 
HISPANIC SOCIETY OF AMERICA 


PENINSULAR SERIES 
IV 


; [ke PROM WE SPANISH BY 
“5ND NS SMTH AMERICAN OPTS 


TED AND AYRANCED PY 


Ww WAILS PhD, Lie. 


c = Sher of the Riel A. ademe's 
PBecne? Tiras, of the Aredeetis 
Wenz aed the T: samme & <ay 
z wf Amery ‘ 
“Retrato perdido” in ‘The Royal Academy 
of Spain 


| Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra 


4G: P. PUTNAM’S So” 
\° NEW YORE AND LonDon 
1920 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY 


POEMS TRANSLATED FROM THE SPANISH BY 
ENGLISH AND NORTH AMERICAN POETS 


COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY 


THOMAS WALSH, Ph.D., Litt.D. 


Corresponding Member of the Real Academia 
Sevillana de Buenas Letras, of the Academia 
Colombiana and the Hispanic Society 
of America 


G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS 
NEW YORK AND LONDON 
1920 


a er 


x {ag 
CoPyRIGHT, 


¥ 
* 
rx 


3 : os re 
a | | : ox : MS e % = ae 

: THE HISPANIC SOCIETY 
1 ‘ ; ( : 

i] l : 

| fe 


GOb,% le 
H673D 
VY. 4 


To the memory 
OF 
JOYCE KILMER 


POET AND HERO, WHO EARNED A GLORIOUS 
GRAVE NEAR THE RIVER OURCQ, 
JULY 30, 1918,— 


My FRIEND. 


1v 


IV 


FOREWORD 


FOREWORD 


SPANISH poetry, at first glance, would 
seem to be an unknown world to readers 
without a knowledge of Castilian; neverthe- 
less, a study of the contents/of this volume 
will show that some of the greatest poets of 
England and America have presented in our 
common English tongue the beauties of this 
exotic literature. While-this achievement 
of the past may be a matter of legitimate 
pride to the northern Hispanist, the present 
would seem to be an opportune moment to 
strengthen whatever claim he may have 
upon the regard of his brethren of Hispanic 
speech by presenting a summary, in chrono- 
logical order, of the translations, by north- 
ern Hispanophiles, of Spanish poems into 
English verse. 

The present work is such a summary, and 
it is offered as a spontaneous tribute of 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY 


affectionate admiration to the contempo- 
raneous Spanish poet—both Peninsular 
and American—from his English-speaking 
brethren of the north. It should perhaps be 
stated that, in the desire that this offering 
should be recognized as essentially a north- 
ern tribute, the editor has with reluctance 
omitted many able translations by His- 
panic-Americans whose work, for the pres- 
ent at least, must be left to the more casual 
page of the periodical. 

The Hispanic Anthology is also offered 
in the belief that it will greatly facilitate 
the work of the writer or lecturer on Span- 
ish poetry who, hitherto, has been handi- 
capped by the great difficulty in obtaining 
English versions adequate to illustrate his 
theme. To him, as to the student and 
general reader, the chronological arrange- 
ment of the material—the amount of which 
is Surprising—and the bibliographical notes, 
which in many cases are the result of very 
considerable research, should prove ex- 
tremely useful. Particularly is this true in} — 
the case of the more recent poets concerning 
whom accurate information is both scarce 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FOREWORD 


and remote. In the matter of selection, a 
comparison of this work with the best of the 
Spanish Parnasos and Hispanic-American 
Antologias will show that the editor has not 
differed greatly from the opinions of the 
original critics. 

The writer’s thanks are due to all those 
who have so graciously permitted their 
versions to be included in this collection— 
notably, Mr. Peter H. Goldsmith, Mr. Wil- 
liam G. Williams, Mr. Alfred Coester, Mr. 
E. C. Hills, Mr. John Pierrepont Rice, Miss 
Alice Stone Blackwell, Miss Lilian E. 
Elliott, and Miss Muna Lee. 


THomMAs WALSH. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


Vii 


IV 


vill 


‘3 ge 
“¥ ws 
eet aes 
a 7H 
* 
- 


HISPANIC. 


THE TRANSLATORS 


THE TRANSLATORS 


LEONARD BACON 

ALicE STONE BLACKWELL 
JouN BowRING 

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 
J. H. Burton 

LorD Byron 


Josepu I. C. CLARKE 
ALFRED COESTER 


L. E. ELLIotTt 


EDWARD FITZGERALD 
JaMEs ELRoy FLECKER 


RicHARD GARNETT 
James YOUNG GIBSON 
RopDERICK GILL 
Jorce Gopoy 

PETER GOLDSMITH 
EDMOND GOSSE 


JouN Hay 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOEeecyY 


FeLicia HEMANS 
ELIJAH CLARENCE HILLS 


JAMES KENNEDY 


Muna LEE 

J. G. LockHAarT 

HENRY WADSWORTH Louchey. 
Ernest F, Lucas 


JoHN MASEFIELD 
P, Morreux 


THOMAS PERCY 


JoHN PIERREPONT RICE 
THOMAS ROSCOE 
R. SELDEN ROSE 


ROBERT SOUTHEY 
GARRET STRANGE 
ARTHUR SYMONS 


GEORGE TICKNOR 
R. C. TRENCH 


THOMAS WALSH 
J. H. WIFFEN 
WiLuiaM G. WILLIAMS 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


CERVANTES SAAVEDRA, MIGUEL DE 
(Photogravure) : . Frontispiece 

VeGA, GARCILASSO DE LA . 

SaInT TERESA 

CaMoENs, Luis VAZ DE 

Fray Luis DE LEON 

AtcAzaR, BALTASAR DEL 

ERCILLA ¥ ZUNIGA, ALONSO DE . 

HERRERA, FERNANDO DE . 


S. JoHN OF THE CRoss 


ARGOTE y GONGORA, LUIS DE . 
(Photogravure) 


VEGA CARPIO, LOPE FELIX DE 
ARGENSOLA, BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE 


Caro, RopriGco 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


xii HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY 


PAGE 
Fray HortTENsI0o: FELIS DE PARAVICINO 
y ARTEAGA . ‘ ; : » 307. 


QUEVEDO VILLEGAS, FRANCISCO DE . 311 
(Photogravure) 


CALDERON DE LA Barca, PEDRO Pees 57 
GractAN y Moraes, BALTASAR « ) B40 
SISTER JUANA INES DE LA CRUuUz i (356 
FERNANDEZ DE Moratin, LEANDRO . 375 


HerepIA, Jost Maria DE : - 404 


ESPRONCEDA, JOSE DE ; : . 420 
ZORILLA, JOSE : ’ : «438 
CAMPOAMOR, RAMON DE . P - 445 
NGNEZ DE ArcE, GASPAR ESTEBAN . 485 
Castro, RosALia DE : : » 503 
MENENDEZ Y PELAYO, MARCELINO . 546 
CASAL, JULIAN DEL . : . 565 
Dario, RuBEN : : ; - 594 


NERVvo, AMADO ; y : Ong 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC A: 


HISPAN 


’ ANONYMOUS 


ANONYMOUS 


THE LAY OF THE CID 


THE Poema del Cid was composed about the 
year 1150. It is a contemporary record of 
the national peculiarities of Spanish chivalry. 
It was first published by Sanchez (Madrid, 


1779). 


He turned and looked upon them, and he 
wept very sore 

As he saw the yawning gateway and the 
hasps wrenched off the door, 

And the pegs whereon no mantle nor coat 
of vair there hung. 

There perched no moulting goshawk, and 
there no falcon swung. 

My lord the Cid sighed deeply, such grief 
was in his heart, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


4 


HISPANICY ANT HOVOGG YY: 


And he spake well and wisely: ‘Oh Thou 
in Heaven that art 

Our Father and our Master, now I give 
thanks to Thee. 


Of their wickedness my foemen have done| 


this thing to me.” 
2 


Then they shook out the bridle rein further 
to ride afar. 

They had the crow on their right hand as 
they issued from Bivar, 

And as they entered Burgos upon their 
left it sped. 

And the Cid shrugged his shoulders, and 
the Cid shook his head: 

“Good tidings, Alvar Fafiez! We are ban- 
ished from our weal, 

But on a day with honor shall we come unto 
Castile.” 


3 


Roy Diaz entered Burgos with sixty pen- 
nons strong, 


HISPANIC, NO@ee 


Ly 


bt le i i ed) pe ee a 


ANONYMOUS 


And forth to look upon him did the men 
and women throng. 

And with their wives the townsmen at the 
windows stood hard by, 

And they wept in lamentation, their grief 
was risen so high. 

As with one mouth together they spake) 
with one accord: 

“God, what a noble vassal, an he had a 
worthy lord.” | 


Fain had they made him welcome, but} 
‘none dared do the thing 
For fear of Don Alfonso, and the fury of | 
the King. 
His mandate unto Burgos came ere the) 
evening fell. 
With utmost care they brought it and it| 
was sealéd well; 
“That no man to Roy Diaz give shelter 
now, take heed, | 


And if one give him shelter, let him know, 


in very deed, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANT HG@pe ca 


He shall lose his whole possession, nay! the 
eyes within his head. 

Nor shall his soul and body be found in 
better stead.” 

Great sorrow had the Christians, and from 
his face they hid. 

Was none dared aught to utter unto my 
lord the Cid. 

Then the Campeador departed unto his 
lodging straight. 

But when he was come hither, they had 
locked and barred the gate. 

In their fear of Don Alfonso had they done 
even SO. 

An the Cid forced not his entrance, neither 
for weal or woe, 

Durst they open it unto him. Loudly his 
men did call. 

Nothing thereto in answer said the folk 
within the hall. 

My lord the Cid spurred onward, to the 
doorway did he go. 

He drew his foot from the stirrup, he smote 
the door one blow. 

Yet the door would not open, for they had 

barred it fast. 


HISPANIC NO@Ees 


ANONYMOUS 


5 


But a maiden of nine summers came unto 
him at last 

‘“‘Campeador in happy hour thou girdedst 
on the sword. 

’Tis the King’s will. Yestereven came the 
mandate of our lord. 

With utmost care they brought it, and it 
was sealed with care; 

None to ope to you or greet you for any 
cause shall dare. 

And if we do, we forfeit houses and lands 
instead. 

Nay, we shall lose moreover, the eyes with- 
in the head. 

And, Cid, with our misfortunes, naught 
whatever dost thou gain. 

But may God with all his power support 
thee in thy pain.” 

So spake the child and turned away. Unto 
her home went she. 

That he lacked the King’s favor now weli 
the Cid might see. 

He left the door; forth onward he spurred 
through Burgos town. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC AN TROteey 


When he had reached Saint Mary’s, then 
he got swiftly down. 

He fell upon his knees and prayed with a 
true heart indeed: 

And when his prayer was over, he mounted 
on the steed. 

Forth from the gate and over the Arlanzon 
he went. 


pitch his tent. 

Roy Diaz, who in happy hour had girded 
on the brand, 

Since none at home would greet him, en- 
camped there on the sand 

With a good squadron, camping as if with- 
in the wood. 

They will not let him in Burgos buy any 
kind of food,— 

Provender for a single day they dared not 
to him sell. 


Then said the Cid, who in good hour had 
girded on the steel: 


HISPANIC NOTES 


There in the sand by Burgos, the Cid let} 


} 
: 


ANONYMOUS 


“Oh Martin Antolinez, thou art a good 
lance and leal. 

And if I live, hereafter I shall pay thee 
double rent, 

But gone is all my silver, and all my gold is 
spent, 

And well enough thou seest that I bring 
naught with me 

And many things are needful for my good 
company. 

Since by favor I win nothing, by might 
then must I gain. 

I desire by thy counsel to get ready coffers 
twain. 

With the sand let us fill them, to lift a 
burden sore,- 

And cover them with stamped leather with 
nails well studded o’er. 


Ruddy shall be the leather, well gilded 
every nail. 

In my behalf do thou hasten to Vidas and 
Raquél. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHROLGCe: 


Since in Burgos they forbade me aught to 
purchase, and the King 

Withdraws his favor, unto them my goods 
I cannot bring. ; 

They are heavy, and I must pawn them for 
whatso’er is right. ; 

That Christians may not see it, let them 
come for them by night. 

May the Creator judge it and of all the 
Saints the choir. 

I can no more, and I do it against my own 
desire.” 


Martin stayed not. Through Burgos he 
hastened forth and came 

To the Castle. Vidas and Raquél he de- 
manded them by name. 


9 


Raquél and Vidas sate to count their goods 
and profits through 

When up came Antolinez the prudent man 
and true. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ANONYMOUS 


“How now Raquél and Vidas, am I dear 
unto your heart? 

I would speak close.” They tarried not. 
All three they went apart. 

“Give me, Raquél and Vidas, your hands 
for promise sure, 

That you will not betray me to Christian 
or to Moor. 

I shall make you rich forever. You shall 
ne’er be needy more. 

When to gather in the taxes went forth the 
Campeador, 

Many rich goods he garnered, but he only 
kept the best. 

Therefore this accusation against him was 
addressed. 

And now two mighty coffers full of pure 
gold hath he. 

Why he lost the King’s favor a man may 
lightly see. 

He has left his halls and houses, his meadow 
and his field, 

And the chests he cannot bring you lest he 
should stand revealed. 

The Campeador those coffers will deliver 
to your trust 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


12 


HISPANIC ANT HOLee yy: 


And do you lend unto him whatever may 
be just. 

Do you take the chests and keep them but 
swear a great oath here 

That you will not look within them for the 
space of all this year.” 

The two took counsel: ‘‘Something to our 
profit must inure 

In all barter. He gained something in the 
country of the Moor 

When he marched there, for many goods 
he brought with him away. 

But he sleeps not unsuspected, who brings 
coinéd gold to pay. 

Let the two of us together take now the 
coffers twain. 

In some place let us put them where unseen 
they shall remain. 

‘‘What the lord Cid demanded, we, prithee, 
let us hear, 

And what will be our usury for the space of 
all this year?” 

Said Martin Antolinez like a prudent man 
and true: 

‘“Whatever you deem right and just the 
Cid desires of you. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ANONYMOUS 


13 

He will ask little since his goods are left in 
a safe place. 

But needy men on all sides beseech the Cid 
for grace. 

For six hundred marks of money the Cid is 
sore bested.” 

“We shall give them to him gladly,” Ra- 
quél and Vidas said. 

‘°Tis night. The Cid is sorely pressed. 
So give the marks to us.” 

Answered Raquél and Vidas: ‘‘Men do not 
traffic thus; 

But first they take their surety and there- 
after give the fee.” 

Said Martin Antolinez: ‘“‘So be it as for 
‘me. 

Come ye to the great Campeador for ’tis 
but just and fair 

That we should help you with the chests, 

' and put them in your care, 

So that neither Moor nor Christian thereof 
shall hear the tale.” 

“Therewith are we right well content,”’ 
said Vidas and Raquél, 

“You shall have the marks six hundred 
when we bring the chests again.” 
AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANDHOG Ges: 


And Martin Antolinez rode swiftly with the 
twain. 

And they were glad exceeding. O’er the 
bridge he did not go, 

But through the stream, that never a 
Burgalese should know 

Through him thereof. And now behold 
the Campeador his tent. 

When they therein had entered to kiss his 
hands they bent. 

My lord the Cid smiled on them and unto 
them said he; 

‘“Ha, Don Raquél and Vidas, you have for- 
gotten me! 

And now must I go hence away who am 
banished in disgrace, 

For the King from me in anger hath turned 
away his face. 

I deem that from my chattels you shall gain 
somewhat of worth, 

And you shall lack for nothing while you 
dwell upon the earth.” 


At the loading of the coffers you had seen 
great joy of heart. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ANONYMOUS 


For they could not heave the great 
chests up though they stark and 
hale; 

Dear was the melted metal to Vidas and 
Raquél. 

And they would be rich forever till their 
two lives were o’er. 


The hand of my good lord the Cid, Raquél 


had kissed once more: 

“Ha! Campeador, in happy hour thou 
girdedst on the brand. 

Forth from Castile thou goest to the men 
of a strange land. 

Such is become thy fortune and great thy 
gain shall be— 

Ah, Cid, I kiss thine hands again—but 
make a gifttome; — 

Bring me a Moorish mantle splendidly 
wrought and red.” 

“So be it. It is granted,” the Cid in an- 
swer said,— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


16 HISPAN IG; ART ere 


“Tf from abroad I bring it, well doth the 
matter stand; 

If not, take it from the coffers I leave here 
in your hand.” ; 


—R. Seldon Rose and Leonard Bacon. 


HISPANIC NOTES: 


ANONYMOUS 


RAZON DE AMOR 


AMONG the Textes castillans inédits du XIII, 
siécle (Romania, 1887, vol. xvi, pp. 368-373),| 
M. Alfred Morel-Fatio published this poem} 
for the first time. The name of Lope de 
Moros is signed to the MS, but he is conjec- 
tured to be merely the copyist. 


For the heart with care o’erflowing, 
Here’s a story that is showing 

An adventure fine and free 

All of love and melody. 

*Twas a scholar made its rhymes 
(He was squire of dames betimes) 
Who in Germany and France 

Had his training for romance, 

But in Lombardy was long 

To learn courtesy in song. 


All in the month of April sweet 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


18 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


In an olive grove I made retreat, 

My dinner done, where the branches meet; 

And a cup of wine mine eyes did greet 

In the cooling shade of an apple-tree 

Full and ruddy as wine can be. 

It had been placed by a lady fair 

Who was mistress of the orchards there, 

For on him she loved her mind would think, 

When he came that way he would stop and 
drink, 

He would quaff it down in a fashion meet 

Whenever he loitered there to eat, 

And thus refreshed would remain always 

Strong and healthy through all his days. 

Higher up on the apple bough 

Another cup caught my vision now, 

Full to the brim of the water clear 

That oozed from the dewy branches near. 

I would have tasted its liquor pure 

But I feared in it enchantment sure, 

So I laid my head to the verdant sward 

Where a midday rest I might afford, 

And the heat of the day was burning so 

I stripped my clothing from head to toe, 

And slipped in the spring that flowed 
thereby— 


HISPANIC Wormes 


Tees a 


ANONYMOUS 


19 


Never the like hath met your eye!— 
So fresh it was, and healthful too, 


-|In the chill of its waters through and 


through. 
A step in its depths from off the shore 
And you felt the heat of the day no more. 
Every herb of odorous air 
Was breathing fresh on its margin fair; 
The salvia likewise and the rose, 
With the lily and the violet close, 
And numerous herbs in row on row 
Whose very names I do not know; 
But such a perfume from all was shed 
It was sweet enough to rouse the dead. 
I took a sup of the water then 
And felt my body cool again; 
And in my hand I took a flower, 
To wit, the worthiest in that bower, 
Prepared to sing of love’s fond hour,— 
When suddenly a damsel came— 
Never in life have you seen the same— 
So white, so blushing red was she; 
Her short hair round her ears blown free, 
Her forehead white and passing fair, 
And face as sweet as an apple rare. 
Her nose so straight and finely turned,— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


20 


HISPANICVAN THe x. 


Ne’er such another have you discerned !— 

Her eyes of midnight shining clear; 

Her lovely lips where white teeth appear 

’Twixt the ruby smiles so full and free— 

Perfection’s self, so it seemed to me!— 

Her girdle broad and measured well 

To a graceful line about her fell, 

Her cloak and gown were of nothing less 

Than samite white, her form to dress; 

The little hat upon her head 

’Gainst the midday heats was garlanded; 

And you would have known by the gloves 
she wore 

No peasant maid was she who bore. 

The flowers bent down before her feet 

As she walked along, while her lips repeat 

This song of love: 


“O friend of mine, 
W ould that my arms could always twine 
About you here in love, and know 
The sweets of loving forever so! 
For you are a scholar as you show, 
And for this I hold you far more dear. 
Never a man did I ever hear 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ANONYMOUS 


To boast of such love as my heart makes clear. 
I had rather my love with you to share 

Than the diadem of Spain to wear. 

There’s but one care upon my heart 

And dread lest some mischance may start; 


For they say that another lady bright 
In beauty and goodness claims a right 
Upon your love, and with such a call 
That despite shall ruin her mind in all; 
And for her my fear is very great, 

Lest your love for me she may abate. 
But now that you behold me well, 

Lover and loved, let us wagnen dwell!” 


The while the -“ Tas so, 

I saw she did not turn to go; ) 
That, though she knew me not for long, 
She did not fear my passion strong. 

That day I was no peasant boor; 

I rose and took her fingers pure, 

And arm in arm we settled down 

In the shade of the olive branches brown. 
And I said to her: ‘‘ My lady, say, 
| Have you known no love until today?’’— 
She answered,—*‘ Truly with love I glow, | 
And little about my squire I know; 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


HISPANIC, AN PHGweey: 


But I should bid his messenger hear, 
That I know he’s a cleric, not cavalier; 
That he reads and writes and sings full clear, 
That he follows the troubadour’s career. 

I know, as well, that his birth is fair 

And the first of his youthful beard is there.” 
“For God’s sake, lady, say to me 

What gifts hath he sent in courtesy? ”— 
‘““These perfumed gloves, this hat, he sent, 
This ring, this coral ornament; 

And for his love they are the sign 

Of the love I bear this sweet friend of mine.” 
There I, in truth, the trinkets knew 

That I had sent! and to her view 

The little sash I wore, displayed 

With the broideries her hands had made. 
She doffed her shoulder mantle bright, 

She kissed my mouth and eyelids right, 
And such delight she took of me 

That I cannot give the history. 

“Lord God be praised that here below 
My lover dear so well I know!” — 

Full long, full long, we tarried there, 
When came the thought unto my fair, 
And she explained,—‘‘ My Master sweet, 
If you should deem it more discreet, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


_—_ <= 


ANONYMOUS 


’*Twill not displease you should I go—”’ 
And I to her—‘‘ My heart shall show 
That it is faithful evermore, 

And prouder than an emperor.””— 

And so alone my lady went, 

Leaving me to my discontent, 

For hardly had she passed the gate 
When my heart like death grew desolate. 
I tried to lay me down to sleep, 

But a tiny dove came there to peep; 

As white as any snowflake blown 
Across the garden it flew alone, 

And unto the pool it took its way 
Where suddenly it saw me laid, 


_|And it turned away in trouble great 


Into the orchard of pomegranate. 

Now there was fastened a cup of gold 

That its little feet could scarce uphold, 

But into the pool it bore its weight 

Where I lay in the shade of the pome- 
granate. 

And when the golden cup was filled 

And unto its very depths was chilled, 

In sign that the feast was at an end 

The water and wine it made to blend. 

—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


23 


IV 


24 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


IV 


GONZALO DE BERCEO 
(1180-1246) 


THE PRAISE OF SPRING 
(From The Miracles of our Lady) 


GONZALO DE BERCEO was born at Berceo. 
Little is known of the events of his life, 
except that he was a priest of the Benedic- 
tine Monastery of San Millan in the diocese of 
Calahorra. His poems, for the most part 
devotional, were edited by Florencio Janer 
(Biblioteca de autores espanoles, vol. lvii). 
There is an edition of the Vida de Santo 
Domingo by J. D. Fitzgerald (Paris, 1904). 


I, Gonzalo de Berceo, in the gentle 
summertide, 

Wending upon a pilgrimage, came to a 
meadow’s side; 

All green was it and beautiful, with flowers 
far and wide,— 

A pleasant spot, I ween, wherein the travel- 
ler might abide. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


a ony 


— ee ee 


GONZALO DE BERCEO 


Flowers with the sweetest odors filled all 
the sunny air, 

And not alone refreshed the sense, but 
stole the mind from care; 

On every side a fountain gushed, whose 
waters pure and fair, 

Tce-cold beneath the summer sun, but warm 
in winter were. 


There on the thick and shadowy trees, 
amid the foliage green, 

Were the fig and the pomegranate, the pear 
and apple seen; 

And other fruits of various kinds, the 
tufted leaves between, 

None were unpleasant to the taste and 
none decayed, I ween. c 


The verdure of the meadow green, the odor 
of the flowers 

The grateful shadows of the trees, tempered 
with fragrant showers, 

Refreshed me in the burning heat of the 
sultry noontide hours; 

Oh, one might live upon the balm and 
fragrance of those bowers! 


25 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


26 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Ne’er had I found on earth a spot that had 
such power to please, 

Such shadows from the summer sun, such 
odors on the breeze; 

I threw my mantle on the ground, that I 
might rest at ease, 

And stretched upon the greensward lay 
in the shadow of the trees. 


There soft reclining in the shade, all cares 
beside me flung, 

I heard the soft and mellow notes that 
through the woodland rung; 

Ear never listened to a strain, for instru- 
ment or tongue, 

So mellow and harmonious as the songs 
above me sung. 

—H. W. Longfellow. 


CANTICA OF THE VIRGIN 


Keep watch, keep watch, keep watch, 
Keep watch on the Council of the Jew, 
Keep watch; 

That they steal not God’s Son from you, 
Keep watch! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GONZALO DE BERCEO 


To steal Him off they are set upon; 


Keep watch, 

Andrew, Peter, likewise John, 
Keep watch! 

|Lie not in your trust so long, 
Keep watch, 

Hearken rather to my song, 
Keep watch; 

All of them light robbers are, 
Keep watch, 

Spying you through bolt and bar, 
Keep watch; 

All are tricksters by the way, 
Keep watch, 

Ribald thief and cutpurse they, 
Keep watch! 

Your own words they have employed, 
Keep watch, 

For your overthrow deployed, 
Keep watch! 

You know not the deep deceit, 
Keep watch, 

That is waiting for your feet, 
Keep watch; 


You know not the reasons wise, 
Keep watch, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC AN THODRG@Gry: 


28 


That from His taking shall arise, 


Keep watch; 

Thomas and old Matthew too, 
Keep watch, 
They desire this theft to do, 
Keep watch; 

The disciple Him did sell, 

Keep watch; 

The Master did not deem it well, 
Keep watch. 

Don Philip, Simon, and Don Jude, 
Keep watch, 

For the stealing aids they sued, 
Keep watch. 

If they have succeeded here, 
Keep watch, 

On to-day it will appear, 

Keep watch. 


— Roderick Gill. 


THE LIFE OF SAN MILLAN 


And when the kings were in the field,— 
their squadrons in array,— 

With lance in rest they onward pressed to 

mingle in the fray; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ee ee ee 


But soon upon the Christians fell a oar 


GONZALO DE BERCEO | 29 


of their foes,— 

These were a numerous army,—a little| 
handful those. 

And while the Christian people stood in| 
this uncertainty, 

Upward to heaven they turned their eyes, 
and fixed their thoughts on high; | 

And there two figures they beheld, all|- 
beautiful and bright, 

Even than the pure new-tallen snow theie! 
garments were more white. 

They rode upon two horses more w hite| 
than crystal sheen, 

!And arms they bore such as before no, 
mortal man had seen; | 

& one, he held a crozier—a pontifi’s 


mitre wore; 

The other held a crucifix,—such man ne ver, 
saw before. 

Their faces were angelical, celestial forms | 
had they,— 

And downward through the fields of air 
they urged their rapid way; 


They looked upon the Moorish host with| 
fierce and angry look, | 


AND MONOGRAPHS | IV 


30 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


And in their hands with dire portent their 
naked sabres shook. 

The Christian host beholding this, straight- 
way take heart again; 

They fall upon their bended knees, all 
resting on the plain, 

And each one with his clenchéd fist to smite 
his breast begins, 

And promises to God on high he will for- 
sake his sins. 

And when the heavenly knights drew near 
unto the battle-ground, 

They dashed among the Moors and dealt 
unerring blows around; 

Such deadly havoe there they made the 
foremost ranks among 

A panic terror spread unto the hindmost of 
the throng. 

Together with these two good knights, the 
champions of the sky, 

The Christians rallied and began to smite 
full sore and high; 

The Moors raised up their voices and by 
the Koran swore 

That in their lives such deadly fray they 
ne’er had seen before. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GONZALO DE BERCEO 


Down went the misbelievers,—fast sped 
the bloody fight,— 

Some ghastly and dismembered lay, and 
some half dead with fright; 

Full sorely they repented that to the field 
they came, 

For they saw that from the battle they 
should retreat with shame. 

Another thing befell them,—they dreamed 
not of such woes,— 

The very arrows that the Moors shot from 
their twanging bows 

Turned back against them in their flight 
and wounded them full sore, 

And every blow they dealt the foe was paid 
in drops of gore. 


Now he that bore the crozier, and the 
papal crown had on 

Was the glorified Apostle, the brother of 
Saint John; 

And he that held the crucifix, and wore the 
monkish hood, 

Was the holy San Millan of Cogolla’s 
neighborhood. 

—H. W. Longfellow. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


32 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY. 


SAN MIGUEL DE LA TUMBA 


San Miguel de la Tumba is a convent 
vast and wide; 

The sea encircles it around, and groans on 
every side; 

It is a wild and dangerous place, and many 
woes betide 

The monks who in that burial place in 
penitence abide. 

Within those dark monastic walls, amid 
the ocean flood 

Of pious fasting monks there dwelt a holy 
brotherhood; 

To the Madonna’s’ glory there an altar 
high was placed 

And a rich and costly image the sacred 
altar graced. 

Exalted high upon a throne, the Virgin 
Mother smiled, 

And as the custom is, she held within her 
arms the Child; 

The kings and wisemen of the East were 
kneeling by her side; 

Attended was she like a queen whom God! 
had sanctified. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ee ee eee 


GONZALO DE BERCEO 


Descending low before her face a screen of 
feathers hung,— 

A moscader or fan for flies, ’tis called in 
vulgar tongue; 

From the feathers of the peacock’s wing 
’*twas fashioned bright and fair, 

And glistened like the heaven above when 
all its stars are there. 

It chanced that for the people’s sins, fell 
lightning’s blasting stroke; 

Forth from all four sacred walls the flames 
consuming broke; 

The sacred robes were all consumed, missal 
and holy book; 

And hardly with their lives the monks 
their crumbling walls forsook. 


But though the desolating flame raged 
fearfully and wild, 

It did not reach the Virgin Queen, it did 
not reach the Child; 

It did not reach the feathery screen before 
her face that shone, 

Nor injured in a farthing’s worth the image 
or the throne. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


34 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


The image it did not consume, it did not 
burn the screen; 

Even in the value of a hair they were not 
hurt, I ween; 

Not even the smoke did reach them, nor 
injure more the shrine 

Than the bishop, hight Don Tello, has 
been hurt by hand of mine. 

—H. W. Longfellow. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ALFONSO EL SABIO 


ALFONSO X 
(1221-1284) 


CANTIGA 


ALFonsO X, known as el sabio or ‘The 
Wise,’’ is in a sense the father of all Spanish 
literature. He was not a successful ruler, 
but he is famous for his codes, chronicles, 
and didactic collections. The principal work 
for which he is famous is the Cantigas de 
Santa Maria, in the dialect of the Galician 
troubadours, which has been edited for the 
Spanish Academy (Madrid, 1889, 2 vols.), 
by L. A. de Coeto, the Marqués de Valmar. 


Lady, for the love of God, 
Have some pity upon me! 
See my eyes, ariver-flood 
Day and night, oh, see! 
Brothers, cousins, uncles, all, 
Have I lost for thee; 
If thou dost not me recall, 
Woe is me! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


35 


IV 


36 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


THE TREASURY 


The strange intelligence then reached my 
ears 

That in the land of Egypt lived a man, 

Who, wise of wit, subjected to his scan 

The dark occurrences of uncome years; 

He judged the stars, and by the moving 
spheres 

And aspects of the heavens unveiled the 
dim 

Face of futurity, which then to him 

Appeared, as clear to us the past appears. 

A yearning towards this sage inspired my 
pen 

And tongue, that instant, with humility 

Descending from my height of majesty; 

Such mastery has a strong desire o’er men; 

My earnest prayers I wrote—I sent— 
with ten 

My noblest envoys, loaded each apart 

With gold and silver, which with all my 
heart 

I offered him, but the request was vain. 

With much politeness the wise man replied, 

“‘You, sire, are a great king, and I should be 


HISPANIC NOTES 


—— a 


oe = 


ALFONSO EL SABIO 


Most glad to serve you, but in such a fee 

Of gold and silver gems I take no sort of 
pride; 

Deign, then, yourself to use them; I abide 

Content in more abundant wealth; and 

_may 

Your treasures profit you in every way 

That I can wish, your servant.”” I com- 
plied; | 

But sent the stateliest of my argosies, | 

Which reached, and from the Alexandrian| 
port 

Brought sate this cunning master to my 
court, 

Who greeted me with all kind courtesies; 

I knowing well his great abilities, 

And learning in the movement of the 
spheres, 

Have highly honored him these many 
years, 

For honor is the birthright of the wise. 

—J. H. Wiffen. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


38 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


MOSSEN JORDI DE SAN JORDI 
(About 1250) 


SONG OF CONTRARIES 


MossEn Jordi de San Jordi, an elusive figure 
in early Spanish literary history, is confused 
with another figure called Jordidel Rey. Both 
are said to have been born either in Val- 
encia or Catalonia about the middle of the 
thirteenth or fifteenth century, although the 
style of the present selection would seem to 
point to the later as the more probable date. 


From day to day I learn but to unlearn, 

I live to die—my pleasure is my woe; 

In dreary darkness I can light discern, 

Though blind, I see, and all but knowledge 
know. 

I nothing grasp, and yet the world embrace, 

Though bound to earth, o’er highest heaven 
I fly. 

With what’s behind I run an untried race 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MOSSEN JORDI 


And break from that which holds me might- 
ily. 

Evil I find when hurrying after bliss, 

Loveless I love, and doubt of all I see; 

All seems a dream that most substantial is, 

I hate myself—others are dear to me; 

Voiceless, I speak —I hear, of hearing void; 

My aye is no; truth becomes falsehood 
strange; 

I eat, not hungry—shift, though un- 
annoyed; 

Touch without hands—and sense to folly 
change. 

I seek to soar, and then the deeper fall, 

When most I seem to sink, then mount I 
still; 

Laughing I weep,—and waking, dreams I 
call; 

And when most cold, hotter than fire I feel; 

Perplexed, I do what I would leave undone; 

Losing I gain—time fleetest, slowest flows; 

Though free from pain, ’neath pain’s 
attacks I groan; 

To craftiest fox the gentlest lambkin grows. 

—Anonymous. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


40 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


JUAN LORENZO SEGURA 
(Late thirteenth century) 


MAY 


JUAN LORENZO SEGURA, a native of Astorga, 


in the latter part of the thirteenth century 
who became an ecclesiastic—‘‘bon clerigo é 
onrado’’—and who left a long poem on Alex- 
ander the Great. 


It was the month of May, a glorious 
time, 
When merry music make the birds in 
boughs, 
Dressed are the meads with beauty far and 
wide, 
And sighs the ladye that has not a 
spouse; 
Tide sweet for marriages; flowers and fresh 
winds 
Temper the clime; in every village near 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JUAN LORENZO SEGURA 


Young girls in bevies sing, and with blythe 
minds 
Make each to each good wishes of the 
year. 
Young maids and old maids, are all out of 
doors, 
Melting with love, to gather flowers at 
rest 
Of noon—they whisper each to each, 
amours 
Are good—and the most tender deem the 
best. 
—J. H. Wiffen. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


JUAN RUIZ: Archpriest of Hita 
(About 1300) 


TO VENUS 


Juan Ruiz, was the Archpriest of Hita, in the 
neighborhood of Guadalajara. It is con- 
jectured that he was born in 1283. His ec- 
clesiastical superiors found it necessary to 
imprison and degrade him. He isa poet of 
peculiarly personal character, strangely akin 
in spirit to the French poet Frangois Villon. 
His Libro de buen Amor is to be found in the 
Biblioteca de autores castellanos (vol. vii); 
other editions are that of J. Ducamin (Tou- 
louse, 1901), and of Julio Cejador y Frauca 
(Madrid, 1913). See also El Arcipreste de 
Hita (Madrid, 1906), by Julio Puyol y Alonso. 


Of figure very graceful, with amorous look, 
correct, 

Sweet, lovely, full of frolic, mild, with 
mirth by prudence checked, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


eS 


JUAN RUIZ DE HITA 


Caressing, courteous, lady-like, in wreathéd 
smiles bedecked, 

Whom every lady looks upon with love 
and with respect ,— 

Lady Venus, wife of Love, at thy footstool 
low I kneel, 

Thou art the paramount desire of all, thy 
force all feel. ’ 

O Love, thou are the master of all creatures; 
all with zeal 

Worship thee fer their creator, or for sorrow 

or for weal. 

Kings, dukes, and noble princes, every 
living thing that is 

Fear and serve thee for their being; oh, 
take not my vows amiss! 

Fulfill my fair desires, give good fortune, 
give me bliss, : 

And be not niggard, shy, nor harsh; sweet 
Venus, grant me this! 

Iam so lost, so ruined, and so wounded by 
thy dart, 

Which I carry close concealed and buried 
deep in my sad heart, 

As not to dare reveal the wound; I dare 
not e’er impart 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


43 


IV 


44 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Her name, ere I forget her, may I perish 
with the smart! 

I have lost my lively color, and my mind 
is in decay; 

I have neither strength nor spirits, I fall 
off both night and day; 

My eyes are dim, they serve alone to lead 
my steps astray 

If thou do not give me eenetiet: I shall 
swoon and pass away. 


Replicth Venus:: 

Tell all thy feelings without fear or being 
swayed by shame, 

To every amorous-looking miss, to every 
gadding dame; 

Amongst a thousand, thou wilt scarce find 
one that e’er will blame 

Thine unembarrassed suit, nor laugh to 
scorn thy tender flame. 

If the first wave of the rough sea, when it 
comes roaring near, 

Should frighten the rude mariner, he ne’er 
would plough the clear 

With his brass-beakéd ship; then ne’er 
let the first word sever 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JUAN RUIZ DE HITA 


The first frown, or the first repulse, affright 
thee from thy dear. 

By cunning hardest hearts grow soft, walled 
cities fall; with care 

High trees are felled, grave weights are 
raised; by cunning many swear 

By cunning many perjured are, and fishes 
by the snare 

Are taken under the green wave; then why 
shouldst thou despair? 

—J.H. Wiffen. 


PRAISE OF LITTLE WOMEN 


I wish to make my sermon brief,—to 
shorten my oration,— 

For a never-ending sermon is my utter 
detestation; 

I like short women,—suits at law without 
procrastination,— 

And am always most delighted ais things 
of short duration. 


A babbler is a laughing-stock; he’s a fool 
who’s always grinning 

But little women love so much, one falls 
in love with sinning. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


46 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


There are women who are very tall, and 
yet not worth the winning, 

And in the change of short for long repen- 
tance finds beginning. 


To praise the little women Love besought 
me in my musing; 

To tell their noble qualities is quite beyond 
refusing; 

So I'll praise the little women, and you'll 
find the thing amusing 

They are, I know, as cold as snow, whilst 
flames around diffusing. 


They’re cold without, whilst warm within 
the flame of Love is raging, 

They’re gay and pleasant in the street,— 
soft, cheerful, and engaging, 

They’re thrifty and discreet at home,—the 
cares of life assuaging; 

All this and more;—try and you'll find 
how true is my presaging. 


In a little precious stone what gee 
meets the eyes! 

In a little lump of sugar how much of 
sweetness lies! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JUAN RUIZ DE HITA 


So in a little woman love grows and multi- 
plies; 
| You recollect the proverb says,—‘“A word 
unto the Wise.” 


A pepper-corn is very small, but seasons 
every dinner 

More than all other condiments, although 
*tis sprinkled thinner; 

Just so a little woman is, if Love will let 
you win her,— 

There’s not a joy in all the world you will 
not find within her. 


And as within the little rose you find the 
richest dyes, 

And in a little grain of gold much price and 
values lies, 

As from a little balsam much odor doth 
arise, 

So in a little woman there’s a taste of 
paradise. 


Even as a little ruby its secret worth be- 
trays, 

Color and price and virtue, in the clearness 
of its rays,— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


47 


IV 


48 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Just so a little woman much excellence 
displays, 

Beauty and grace and love and fidelity 
always. 


The skylark and the nightingale, though 
small and light of wing 

Yet warble sweeter in the grove than all 
the birds that sing; 

And so a little woman, though a very little 
thing, 

Is sweeter far than sugar and flowers that 
bloom in spring. 


The magpie and the golden thrush have 
many a thrilling note, 

Each as a gay musician doth strain his 
little throat 

A merry little songster in his green and 
yellow coat; 

And such a little woman is, when Love 
doth make her dote. 


There’s nought can be compared to her, 
throughout the wide creation; 

She is a paradise on earth,—our greatest 
consolation ,— 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


— - oe 


JUAN RUIZ DE HITA 


So cheerful, gay and happy, so free from all 
vexation; 

In fine, es better in the proot than in| 
anticipation. 


Tf as her size increases are woman’s charms, 
decreased, 
Then surely it is good to be from all the 
great released. 
Now of two evils choose the less—said a| 
wise man of the East, 
By consequence, of woman-kind be sure | 
to choose the least. 
—H.W. Longfellow. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


50 HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


PERO LOPEZ DE AYALA 
(1332-1407) 


SONG TO THE VIRGIN MARY 


PERO LépEz DE AYALA was a Basque cour- 
tier in the suite of Pedro the Cruel, Henry 
of Trastamara, John I, and Henry III. 
He became Grand Chancellor of Castile in 
1398. His principal work is the Rimado de 
Palacio (Biblioteca de autores espafioles, vol. 
lvii). It is also to be found in a new edition 
edited by Albert Kuersteiner in the Biblioteca 
hispanica. 


Lady, as I know thy power, 
I place my hopes in thee; 

Thy shrine in Guadalupe’s tower 
My pilgrim steps shall see. 


Thy welcome ever was most sweet 
To those who come in care; 

When from this prison I retreat, 
I'll seek thine image there. 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


PERO LOPEZ DE AYALA| 51 


Lady, as I know thy power, 
I place my hopes in thee; 

Thy shrine in Guadalupe’s tower, 
My pilgrim steps shall see. 


In all my sorrows would I call 
On thee, Sweet Advocate; 

My heart adores thee more than all, 
And so my sins seem great. 

Lady, as I know thy power, 
I place my hopes in thee; 

Thy shrine in Guadalupe’s tower 
My pilgrim steps shall see. 


Thou art the star that shows the way, 
The balm that heals my wrong; 
In gentleness be mine today 
And lead to heaven along. 
Lady, as I know thy power, 
I place my hopes in thee; 
Thy shrine in Guadalupe’s tower 
My pilgrim steps shall see. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


ALVARO DE LUNA 
(1388-1453) 
CANCION 


ALVARO DE LuNA, from a mere page became 
Grand Constable of Castile through the favor 
of Juan II. He obtained unbounded power 
and wealth, but earned the hatred of the 
nobles, who procured his abandonment and 
execution by his King in 1453. His poems 
are characteristic in their frivolous, daring 
manner of the age in which he flourished. 
Some of his poetical work is to be found in 
the Cancionero de Baena (edition of P. J. 
Pidal, Madrid, 1851). 


Since to cry 
And to sigh 
I ne’er cease; 
And in vain 
I would gain 
My release; 
Yet I still 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ALVARO DE LUNA 


Have the will, 
Though I see 
That the way 
Every day 
Is less free. 
She is light 
And the blight 
Wrecks my joy; 
Better death 
Than such breath 
IT employ! 
But perchance 
For such glance | | 
I was born; 
And my griet 
Is relief 
For your scorn. 

— Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


“ee 
| 


54 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


INIGO LOPEZ DE MENDOZA 
(1398-1458) 
SERRANILLA 


Iktco LOPEZ DE Menpboza, Marqués de San- 
tillana, the son of the Admiral of Castile 
and nephew of Lépez de Ayala, was born at 
Carrién de los Condes. He wasa skilful poli- 
tician and bitterly opposed to Alvaro de 
Luna. He died at Guadalajara on March 25, 
1458. He is remarkable for a fine classical 
knowledge, and for his acquaintance with 
all the literary forms of the Provengal and 
Italian schools. He is thought to have been 
the first to employ the sonnet form in Spain. 
His Obras were published in Madrid, 1852, 
edited by José Amador de los Rios, and his 
poems are to be found in the Concianenl 
castellano del siglo X V, collected by M. R. 
Foulché-Delbose in the Nueva biblioteca de 
autores espanoles (vol. xix). 


EE  —— =<“ Ss 


From Calatrava as I took my way 
At holy Mary’s shrine to kneel and pray, 


a 


_ vow 


HISPANIC NOTES 


. 


OS 


INIGO LOPEZ DE MENDOZA 


And sleep upon my eyelids heavy lay, 
There where the ground was very rough 
and wild, 
I lost my path and met a peasant child: 
From Finojosa, with the herds around her, 
There in the fields I found her. 


Upon a meadow green with tender grass, 
With other rustic cowherds, lad and lass, 
So sweet a thing to see I watched her pass: 
My eyes could scarce believe her what 
they found her, 
There with the herds around her. 


I do not think that roses in the Spring 
Are half so lovely in their fashioning: 
My heart must needs avow this secret thing, 
That had I known her first as then I 
found her, 
From Finojosa, with the herds around her, 
I had not strayed so far her face to see 
That it might rob me of my liberty. 


I questioned her, to know what she might 


say: 
“Has she of Finojosa passed this way?” 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


She smiled and answered me: “In vain 
you sue, 
Full well my heart discerns the hope in you: 
But she of whom you speak, and have 
not found her. 
Her heart is free, no thought of love has 
bound her, ; 
Here with the herds around her.” 
—John Pierrepont Rice. 


CANCION 


Whether you love me 
I cannot tell. 

But that I love you, 
This I know well. 


You and none other 
Hold I so dear. 

This shall be always, 
Year upon year. 


When first I saw you, 
So it befell. 

I gave you all things— 
This I know well. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


INIGO LOPEZ DE MENDOZA| 57 


Myself I gave you 

Ever in fee. 

Doubt then of all things 
But doubt not me. 


Since first I saw you, 
Under your spell, 
All my wits wander, 
This I know well. 


Still have I loved you, 
Still shall I love, 

Love you and serve you 
All things above. 


Her I have chosen 
None doth excel. 
Trust me, I feign not, 
This I know well. 
—John Pierrepont Rice. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


ANONYMOUS 
(Fifteenth century) 


VILLA NCICO 


Tus Villancico is a remarkable little poem 
found in the Cancionero musical de los siglos 
XV y XVI, published by F. Asenjo Barbieri 
(Madrid, 1890, no. 17, p. 62). 


Three dark maids,—I loved them when 
In Jaén,— 
Axa, Fatima, Marien. 


Three dark maids who went together 
Picking olives in clear weather, 

My, but they were in fine feather 

In Jaén,— 

Axa, Fatima, Marien!— 


There the harvests they collected, 
Turning home with hearts dejected, 
Haggard where the sun reflected 

In Jaén,— 

Axa, Fatima, Marien— 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ANONYMOUS 


Three dark Moors so lovely they— 
Three dark Moors so lovely, they 
Plucked the apples on that day 
Near Jaén,— 
Axa, Fatima, Marien. 

—Thomas Walsh. 


THE BLACK GLOVE 


From the Cancionero general 


Glove of black in white hand bare, 

And about her forehead pale 

Wound a thin transparent veil 

That doth not conceal her hair. 

Sovereign attitude and air, 

Cheek and neck alike displayed, 

With coquettish charms arrayed, 

Laughing eyes and fugitive;— 

This is killing men that live, 

’Tis not mourning for the dead. 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


60 


IV 


MICER FRANCISCO IMPERIAL 
(Early fifteenth century) 


DEZIR 


Micer FRANcIsco IMPERIAL was the son of a 
Genoese jeweller settled in Seville. He is im- 
portant as the first poet in Spanish to imitate 
the poems of Dante in their allegorical style. 
Thirteen of his poems are to be found in the 
Cancionero de Baena. 


Passing on no vain journey was I upon the 
day 

On Quadalquiver’s bridge I went with 
footsteps free 

Unto the fair encounter that thereon came 
to me, 

Where by the River’s reaches, as old 
Triana lay, 

The lovely star Dianaher beauty did display; 

Upon that May day early, hard at the 
break of morn 


=== +--+ - 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MICER FRANCISCO IMPERIAL 


The Feast of holy pilgrimages to adorn,— 
To Santa Ana, all the praises due, I pay!— 


And there my colors for to show, I chose 
the flower 

Of jasmine delicate and rare; the rose in| 
bloom 

Fresh from its garden breathing rarest of 
perfume; 

And then the fleur-de-lis from the meadow 
bower. 

Their gracious hues and honest smiled so 
upon that hour 

They brought to mind the messenger of 
angel face 

Who came old time and murmured ‘‘ Hail, | 
Thou full of Grace,” 

Descending out of Paradise to speak its) 
power. 


Hushed be the poets all, and authors wise 
as well, 

Homer, Horace, Vergil, Dante, and he too, 

That Ovid towhose pen The Artof Love isdue, 

And all who e’er have written the praise 
of lords to tell; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


62 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


For she is as the moon in the stars’ citadel, 

When her with other women one started to 
compare ,— 

A shining flame amid the brightest planets 
there— 

A rose among the flowers for beauty and 
for smell. 


Though not to be disdained for beauty or 
for grace 

The fragile enfregyme, the flowery pride of 
Greece, 

The blossom that the Trojan voices never 
cease 

To praise on high and give the loftiest of 
place; 

Yet native to our soil, where never furrows 
trace, 

There sometimes comes to blossom so 
beautiful a rose, 

So stately and so lovely, it quite outshineth 
those,— 

And that alone is worthy to be put beside 
her face. 

— Thomas Walsh. 


IV 


HISPANIC] N@TEsS 


= te an 


_—s 


FERRANT SANCHEZ TALAVERA, 63 


FERRANT SANCHEZ TALAVERA 
(Fifteenth century) 


DEZIR 
FERRANT SANCHEZ TALAVERA was Gomman| 
der of the Order of Calatrava. Sixteen of his| 
poems are to be found in the Cancionero de| 
Baena, which show a real distinction not 
eclipsed by the resemblance of his works to 
the Coplas of Jorge Manrique and the ivi 


of Rodrigo Cota de Maguaque. 


For love of God, let’s put aside the veil, 
Good Gentlemen, that blurs and blinds 
our sight, 
And upon Death the conqueror look aright, 
Who levels high and Jow beneath his flail. 
And unto God in heaven let our sighs | 
Go up in prayer, each heart a penitent, 
For the offenses everyone has spent, 
The old, the child, the youth, against the! 


| 
skies. | 


64 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


IV 


Surely no life at all we live, who here 


But measure the assured approach of 
death— 
The cruel, treacherous master of our breath 
And when we think to live,—ah, he is near! 
We are well certain of our hour of birth, 
But when we die, ah, certain we are not; 
No certitude of life an hour we’ve got; 
With tears we come, with tears we leave 
the earth. 


And what became of all the emperors, 

The popes and kings, and all the prelate 
lords, 

The dukes and counts whom history 
records, 

Their rich and strong and learned servitors? 

And all who in the lists of love would wage 

In gallant arms throughout the spreading 
world,— 

And allin art’s and science’s scroll enfurled, 

Where doctors, poets, troubadours, engage? 


Father and son and brother, parents fond 


And friends and sweethearts of our very 
breast, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FERRANT SANCHEZ TALAVERA 


With whom we ate and drank and took 
our rest, 
The gay and gallant throng in friendships 
- bond,— 
Ladies and damsels and brave striplings| 
fair 
Who lay their youthfulness beneath the| 
ground; 
And other gentles that short shift have) 
found, | 
Who once were present here and now | 
where? 


The Duke of Cabra and the Admiral, 

And many another Grandee of Castile: 

Now Ruy Diaz’s sleeve to pluck doth steal] 

Old Death,—who ’mong his compeers out-| 
shone all, 

So that the people of the farthest East 

Dreamt of his prowess and the glory’s, 
shine 

He lent this court with all his gracious, fine 

Performance graciously and bold increased. 


And all we mention now are briefly grown 
But dust and ashes, fallen to nothingness; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


66 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Others are bones that are of flesh the less, 
And, refuse of the trenches, there are thrown. 
And others are disjointed limbs, their head 
Without a body, without hands or feet; 
Others whereon the worms begin to eat; 
Others new set for burial with the dead. 


Where now the lordships, prelacies, and 
powers, 

The tributes and the rents signorial? 

Where now their pomps and courtliness 
withal, 

Where their campaignings and their council 
hours? 

Where all their sciences and learned lore— 

Where are their masters of the poet’s art, 

Where the great rhymers, where the singer’s 
heart, 

Where he that struck the lute-strings o’er 
and o’er? 


Where are the treasures, vassals, servitors, 

Where are their hangings and their precious 
stones, 

Where are their pearls baroque in costly 
thrones, 


HISPANIC ‘(NOTES 


FERRANT SANCHEZ TALAVERA 


Where are their perfume arks and scented 
store? 

Where are their woofs of gold and shining 
chains, 

Where are their collars and their buckles 
now, 

Where the great gems that glittered row 
on row, 

Where the light bells that tinkled on their 
reins? 


Where are the feasts and suppers gay be- 


spread, 

Where the bright joust and tourney after- 
noons, 

Where are their fashions and new-fangled 
boons, 


Where the new steps with which their 
dancers tread? 

Where the assemblies and the banquet 
boards, 

Where all the shows and splendor of their 
ways, 

Whereallthe laughter andthe pleasant plays, 

Where all the minstrel’s and the joglar’s 
words; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


68 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


In faith meseems without a shade of doubt, 
The days are now accomplished as foretold 
Isaias, prophet son of Amos old, 

Who said: ‘All order shall be blotted out; 
Corruption shall be over every worth, 
And death o’er all of humankind shall creep, 
And every gate shall hear the voices weep, 
And all the people be destroyed from 
earth!” 


Such is the end and tribulation seen 
By Jeremias prophet of man’s woes, 
Whose eyes a flood of weepings did disclose 
Whose loud lamentings did his grief demean 
Mourning his sins and errors of his days, 
And this is written, anyone may read, 
Within his chapters and clear and full 
indeed; 

These surely are the times of which he says. 


Wherefore good sense advises we should 
arm 

Our souls with all the virtues that they lack, 

And take earth’s empty treasures from our 
back 

Since they are sure to go at first alarm. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FERRANT SANCHEZ TALAVERA 


And he who looks on this with kindly eyes, 

Need not a fear unto his dying give; 

Through death he passes, ceasing but to 
live, 

To Life Eternal where he never dies! 

— Thomas Walsh. 


AND. MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


JUAN II OF CASTILE 
(1405-1454) 


CANCION 


KincG Juan II of Castile was a weak char- 
acter, a futile monarch, but a good critic and 
a graceful poet. He was lordly patron of a 
court to which flocked over two hundred 
troubadours and poets. His story is inti- 
mately involved with that of his favorite 
Alvaro de Luna. 


O Love, I never, never thought 
Thy power had been so great, 
That thou couldst change my fate, 
By changes in another wrought, 
Till now, alas! I know it. 


I thought I knew thee well, 
For I had known thee long; 
But though I felt thee strong, 
I felt not all thy spell. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


| JUAN II OF CASTILE 


Nor ever, ever had I thought 
Thy power had been so great, 
That thou couldst change my fate, 
By changes in another wrought, 
Till now, alas! I know it. 


—George Ticknor. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


71 


72 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


JUAN DE MENA 
(1411-1456) 


CANCION 


JUAN DE MENA was born at Cordoba, where 
his father was regidor. After travelling in 
Italy he returned to Spain and became Latin 
Secretary to Juan II. He was a great favor- 
ite of this monarch and died at Torrelaguna. 
He was the leading poet of his time being 
called ‘‘The Spanish Ennius.” His principal 
poem, El Laberinto, imitates the scheme of 
Dante’s Commedia. El Laberinto, also known 
as Las Trezientas, was published by M. R. 
Foulché-Delbosc (M4con, 1904). See also 
F. Wolf, Studien, p. 772, and George Ticknor’s 
History of Spanish Literature, i, p. 329. 


As I upon my pallet lie, 
The greatest grief I know 

Is thinking when I said “‘Good-bye” 

To the breast I’m loving so. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


a 


JUAN DE MENA 


‘In spite of all the woes I feel 
Upon that parting thought, 
At times my memories reveal 

The mighty joys you brought. 
So let the world a-whispering go 

To tell why here I lie; 
Because they know I’ve said ‘‘Good-bye” 
To the breast I’m loving so. 


I languish but I let none hear 
How deep my sorrows are, 
Although my griefs are quite as near 
As your sweet balm is far. 
And if it be the end they show 
And death is coming nigh, | 
While living, let me say ‘‘ Good-bye” 
_ To the breast I’m loving so. | 
——Thomas Walsh. 


LINES TO MACIAS EL ENA MORADO 
(From the Laberinto) 


We in this radiant circle looked so long 
That we found out Macias; in a bower 

Of cypress was he weeping still the hour 
That ended his dark life and love in wrong. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


74 HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Nearer I drew for sympathy was strong 
In me, when I perceived he was from Spain; 
And there [heard him sing the saddest strain 
That e’er was tuned in elegiac song. 
“‘Love crowned me with his myrtle crown; 
my name 
Will be pronounced by many, but, alas, 
When his pangs caused me bliss, not slighter 
woe 
The mournful suffering that consumed my 
frame! 
His sweet snares conquer the lorn mind 
they tame, 
But do not always then continue sweet; 
And since they cause me ruin so complete, 
Turn, lovers, turn, and disesteem his fame; 
Dangers so passionate be glad to miss; 
Learn to be gay; flee from sorrows touch; 
Learn to disserve him you have served so 
much, 
Your devoirs pay at any shrine but his: 
If the short joy that in his service is, 
Were but proportioned to the long, long 
pain, 
Neither would he that once has loved com- 
plain, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JUAN DE MENA 75 


Nor he that ne’er has loved despair of bliss. 

But even as some assassin or night-rover, 

Seeing his fellow wound upon the wheel, 

Awed by the agony resolves with zeal 

His life to ’mend, and character recover; 

But when the fearful spectacle is over, 

Reacts his crimes with easy unconcern; 

So my amours on my despair return, 

That I should die, as I have lived, a lover!” 
—J. H. Wiffen. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


a 


76 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


GOMEZ MANRIQUE 
(1415-1491) 
TO A LADY GOING VEILED 


GémEz ManriQuE, Lord of Amusco, was a 
nephew of the Marqués de Santillana and 
brother of Rodrigo Manrique, Grand-Master 
of Santiago, called ‘‘the Second Cid.” At first 
a mere courtier, he devoted himself to the 
poetry fashionable at the court of Juan II. 
He was called to sterner duties by his warlike 
brother and supported in battle the claims of 
the Pretender Alonso and his sister Isabel of 
Castile. He is distinguished for a pathos 
similar to that employed by his great nephew, 
Jorge Manrique, and this, as well as his satiri- 
cal poetry, may be studied in his Cancionero 
edited by Antonio Paz y Mélia (Madrid, 
1885). 


The very heart went out of me 
When first I saw your face, 

And soon it did appear to me 
Your eyes in mine would trace. 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


GOMEZ MANRIQUE 


I could no more than scarcely breathe 
When you drew on your veil 

And hid yourself so well beneath 
Your dark cloak’s heavy trail. 


But under it your gentle grace 
And simple air were seen; 
The very masque its charm would trace 
And show, instead of screen; 
So very great became my care 
And trouble that I knew 
My heart was swift entangled there 
With my enraptured view. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


COPLAS ON THE BAD GOVERNMENT 
OF TOLEDO 


When mighty Rome was conqueror, 
*Twas Scipio led the van of fighting; 
Old Fabius was her counselor; 
And Titus Livius did her writing. 


And not a maid or wife but came 

And stripped the ornaments from off her, 
To offer them for warlike fame 

And save her country from dishonor. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


-g | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Where none there be to rule the town 
How soon its triumph will be ended! 

How soon the roof-tree tumble down 
Where not a dweller is attended! 


When pigs without the dogs to herd 
Will straggle quick to their perdition, 

Can troops without a captain’s word 
Be long maintained in war-condition? 


For sheep without a shepherd’s rod 
Will lay in waste both field and garden; 
And monks that know no prior’s nod 
Will fall to sins beyond a pardon. 


The vineyards left unwatched to grow 
Unto each passer-by will yield them ; 

The courts where gallants never show 
Are hands that have no gloves to shield 
them. 


The shoe that fares without a sole 
Can ill preserve the foot that wears it; 
The strings escaped the lute’s control 
Will make a sound—if you can bear 
it— 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GOMEZ MANRIQUE 


The church that boasts no lettered throng, 
Like palace without walls, must tremble; 

Who looks for fish both big and strong 
Save where the firmest nets dissemble? 


In faith, that blow me-seemeth light 
Of which a swordless hand is giver;— 
But a sword without a hand of might, 
Full little thrust will it deliver! 
— Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


80 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: : 


JUAN ALVAREZ GATO 
(1433-1496) 


CANTAR TO OUR LADY 


JUAN ALvarez GATO was one of the poets of} 
the court of Juan II. He fell into disgrace | 
under Henry IV. He was highly esteemed 
by Gémez Manrique. His work is to be| — 
found in the Cancionero castellano del siglo| — 
XV (Nueva biblioteca de autores espafioles, : 
vol. xix) : 


Tell me Lady, tell, prithee, 
When from earth I pass away, 
Will you then remember me? 


How my time away was thrown, 
How with sins my days were sown, 
And my depths of misery— 

Will you then remember me? 


When there shall to all be known | 
‘ 
. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JUAN ALVAREZ GATO 


Through the realms cf the eternal 
Of the Judgment Seat diurnal, 
Refuge from the doom infernal, 

In your prayers alone I see, — 
Will you then remember me? 


When upon the dreaded scales 
All my poor accounting fails 

To report the bonds and bails 
That your Son has given in fee— 
Will you then remember me? 


Finale 


When my soul in grief astounded 

At the judgment bar surrounded 

With the charge of guilt is hounded, 

And your prayers alone can free,— 

Will you then remember me? 
—Garret Strange. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


82 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


JORGE MANRIQUE 
(1440-1479) 


CANTICA 


JorcE MANRIQUE was the son of Rodrigo, 


Grand-Master of Santiago, “‘the Second Cid,” 
and was born at Paredes de Nava. From his 
birth he was in the midst of wars, and he 
joined his father in supporting Alfonso and 


Isabel of Castile in their claims for the throne. | 


He was killed before the walls of Garci- 
Munoz in his thirty-ninth year. His famous 
Coplas were written after the death of his 
father in 1476. Innumerable editions of this 
great poem have made their appearance; 
among the best being that of M. R. Foulché- 
Delbosc (Madrid, 1912). The Coplas have had 
many commentaries in verse and have several 
times been set to music. H. W. Longfellow 
began his literary career with the publication 
of a version of the Coplas in English. 


Let him whose time hath come to go 
Put never faith where he must part; 


IV 


HISPANIC. NOTES 


JORGE MANRIQUE 


Forgetfulness and change of heart 

Are penalties the absent know. 

You would be loved—a lover you. 
Then pay your court incessant, thou, 
For hardly are you vanished ere 

Remembrance goes as lightly too. 

Be done with idle hope, and start 
Let him whose time hath come to go; 

Forgetfulness and change of heart ~ 
Are penalties the absent know. 

— Thomas Walsh. 


THE COPLAS ON THE DEATH OF HIS 
FATHER, THE GRAND-MASTER 
OF SANTIAGO 


The Intrott 


Let from its dream the soul awaken, 
And reason mark with open eyes 
The scene unfolding,— 
How lightly life away is taken, ~ 
How cometh Death in stealthy guise,— 
At last beholding; 


What swiftness hath the flight of pleasure 
That, once attained, seems nothing more 
Than respite cold; _ 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


84 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


How fain is memory to measure 
Each latter day inferior 
To those of old. 


Beholding how each instant flies 
So swift, that, as we count, ’tis gone 
Beyond recover, 
Let us resolve to be more wise 
Than stake our future lot upon 
What soon is over. 


Let none be self-deluding, none,— 
Imagining some longer stay 
For his own treasure 
Than what today he sees undone; 
For everything must pass away 
In equal measure. 


Our lives are fated as the rivers 
That gather downward to the sea 
We know as Death; 
And thither every flood delivers 
The pride and pomp of seigniory 
That forfeiteth; 


Thither, the rivers in their splendor; 
Thither, the streams of modest worth,— 
The rills beside them; 


IV 


HISPANIC: NOTES 


JORGE MANRIQUE 


Till there all equal they surrender; 
And so with those who toil on earth, 
And those who guide them. 


The Invocation 


I turn me from the praise and singing 
Of panegyrists, and the proud 
Old poets’ stories; 
I would not have them hither bringing 
Their artful potions that but cloud 
His honest glories; 


On Him Alone I lay my burden— 
Him only do I now implore 
In my distress,— 
Who came on earth and had for guerdon 
The scorn of man that did ignore 
His Godliness. 


This world is but a highway going 
Unto that other, the abode 
Without a sorrow; 
The wise are they who gird them, knowing 
The guideposts set along that road 
Unto tomorrow. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


86 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


We start with birth upon that questing; © 


We journey all the while we live, 
Our goal attaining 
The day alone that brings us resting, 
When Death shall last quiétus give 
To all complaining. 


This were a hallowed world indeed, 
Did we but give it the employ 
That was intended; 
For by the precepts of our Creed 
We earn hereby a life of joy 
When this is ended. 


The Son of God Himself on earth 
Came down to raise our lowly race 
Unto the sky; 
Here took upon Him human birth; 
Here lived among us for a space; 
And here did die. 


Behold what miserable prize— 
What futile task we set upon, 
Whilst greed awakes us! 
And what a traitor world of lies 
Is this, whose very gifts are gone 
Ere Death o’ertakes us! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JORGE MANRIQUE 


Some through increasing age deprived, 
Some by unhappy turn of fate 
Destroyed and banished, 
Some, as with blight inherent rived 
At topmost of their branching state, 
Have failed and vanished. 


Yea, tell me shall the lovely blason, 
The gentle freshness and contour 
_ Of smiling faces,— 
|The blush and pallor’s sweet occasion,— 
Of all—shall one a truce secure 
From Time’s grim traces? 


The flowing tress, the stature slender, 
The corporal litheness, and the strength 
Of gallant youth,— 
All, all,—to weariness surrender 
As o’er them falls the shadow’s length 
Of age in truth. 


The Visigoths whose lineage kingly 
Whose feats of war and mighty reign 
Were so exalted,— 
What divers ways did all and singly 
Drop down to the obscure again 
And were defaulted! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


88 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Some through their worthlessness (How 
lowly 
And base among the rabble came 
Their estimation!) 
Whilst others as a refuge solely 
In offices they only shame 
Maintain their station. 


Estate and luxury’s providing 
Can leave us pauper—who may doubt?— 
Within an hour; 
Let us not count on their abiding, 
Since there is nothing sure about 
Dame Fortune’s dower. 


Hers are the gifts of one unstable 
Upon her globe as swift as light 
Revolving ever; 
Who to be constant is unable, 
Who cannot stay nor rest from flight 
On aughtsoever. 


And though, say I, her highest favor 
Should follow to the tomb and heap 
With wreaths her master; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MANRIQUE 


JORGE 


Let not our solid judgment waver 
Since life is like a dream and sleep 
Flies nothing faster. 


The soft occasions of today 
Wherein we find our joy and ease 
Are but diurnal; 
Whilst the dread torments that must pay 
The cost of our iniquities 
Shall be eternal. 


The pleasures light, the fond evasions 
That life on troubled earth deploys 
For eyes of mortals, 
What are they but the fair persuasions 
Of labyrinths where Death decoys 
To trap-like portals? 


Where heedless of the doom ensuing 
We hasten laughing to the snare 
Without suspicion. 

Until aghast at our undoing, 
We turn to find the bolt is there, 
And our perdition. 


Could we but have procured the power 
To make our faded youth anew 
Both fresh and whole, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


90 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


As now through life’s probation hour 
’Tis ours to give angelic hue 
Unto the soul,— 


What ceaseless care we then had taken, 
What pains had welcomed, so to bring 
A health but human,— 
Our summer bloom to re-awaken, 
Our stains to clear,—outrivalling 
The arts of woman! 


The kings whose mighty deeds are spacious 


Upon the parchments of the years, 
Alas!—the weeping - 
That overtook their boast audacious. 
And swept their thrones to grime and 
tears 
And sorrow’s keeping! 


Naught else proves any more enduring; 
Nor are the popes, nor emperors, 
Nor prelatries 
A longer stay or truce securing 
Than the poor herdsman of the moors 
From Death’s decrees. 


HISPANIC NOTES’ 


{ 
| 


JORGE MANRIQUE 


Recount no more.of Troy, or foeman -: 
The echo of whose wars is now 
But far tradition; 
Recount no more how fared the Roman 
(His scroll of glories we allow) 
Nor his perdition; 


Nor here rehearse the homely fable 
Of such as yielded up their sway 
These decades gone; 
But let us say what lamentable 
Fate the lords of yesterday 
Have fallen upon. 


Of fair Don Juan the king that ruled us,— 
Of those hight heirs of Aragon,— 
What are the tidings? 
Of him whose courtly graces schooled us, 
Whom song and wisdom smiled upon, 
Where the abidings? 


The jousts and tourneys where they 
vaunted 
With trappings, and caparison, 
And armor sheathing,— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


gI 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Were they but phantasies that taunted,— 
But blades of grass that vanished on 
A summer’s breathing? 


What of the dames of birth and station, 
Their head-attire, their sweeping trains, 
Their vesture scented? 
What of that gallant conflagration 
They made of lovers’ hearts whose pains 
Were uncontented? 


And what of him, that troubadour 
Whose melting lutany and rime 
Was all their pleasure? 
Ah, what of her who danced demure, 
And trailed her robes of olden time 
So fair a measure? 


Then Don Enriqué, in succession, 
His brother’s heir,—think, to what height 
Was he annointed! 
What blandishment and sweet possession 
The world prepared for his delight, 
As seemed appointed! 


Yet see what unrelenting foeman, 
What cruel adversary, Fate 
To him became; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JORGE MANRIQUE 


A friend befriended as was no man— 
How brief for him endured the state 
His birth might claim. 


The golden bounties without stinting, 
The strongholds and the lairs of kings 
With treasure glutted; 
The flagons of their wassail glinting, 
The sceptres, orbs, and crowns, and rings 
With which they strutted; 


The steeds, the spurs, and bits to rein them. 
The pillions draped unto the ground 
Beneath their paces,— 
Ah, whither must we fare to gain them?— 
That were but as the dews around 
The meadow places. 


His brother then, the unoffending, 
Who was intruded on his reign 
To act as heir,— 
What gallant court was round him bending. 
How many a haughty lord was fain 
To tend him there! 


Yet as but mortal was his station, 
Death for his goblet soon distilled 
A draught for draining; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


94 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


O Thou Divine Predestination!— 
When most. his blaze the world had filled 
Thou sent’st the raining! 


And then, Don Alvaro, Grand-Master 
And Constable, whom we have known 
When loved and dreaded,— 
What need to tell of his disaster, . . 
Since we behold him overthrown 
And swift beheaded! 


His treasures that defied accounting, 
His manors and his feudal lands, 
His boundless power,— 
What more than tears were their amount- 
ing? 
What more than bonds ‘to tie his hands 
At life’s last hour? 


That other twain, Grand-Masters solely, 
Yet with the fortunes as of kings 
Fraternal reigning, — 
Who brought the high as well as lowly 
Submissive to their challengings 
And laws’ ordaining. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


a 


JORGE MANRIQUE 


And what of all their power and prize 
That touched the very peaks of fame 
That none could limit?— 
A conflagration ’gainst the skies, 
Till at its brightest ruthless came 
Death’s hand to dim it. 


The dukes so many and excelling, 
The marquises, and counts, the throng 
Of barons splendid, 
Speak, Death, where hast thou hid their 
dwelling? 
The sway we saw them wield so strong— 
How was it ended? 


What fields upon were they engaging,— 
What prowess showing us in war 
* Or its cessation, 
When thou, O Death, didst come outraging 
Both one and all, and swept them o’er 
With desolation. 


Their warriors’ unnumbered hosting, 
The pennon, and the battle-flag, 
And bannered splendor,— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


96 


HISPANIC’ ANTHRO eeyY: 


The castles with their turrets boasting, 
Their walls and barricades to brag 
And mock surrender,— 


The cavern’s ancient crypt of hiding, 
Or secret passage, vault, or stair,— 
What use affords it? 
Since thou upon thy onslaught striding 
Canst send a shaft unerring where 
No buckler wards it! 


O World that givest and destroyest 
Would that the life which thou hast shown 
Were worth the living! 
But here, as good or ill deployest, 
The parting is with gladness known 
Or with misgiving. 
Thy span is so with griefs encumbered 
With sighing every breeze so steeped, 
With wrongs so clouded, 
A desert where no boon is numbered, 
The sweetness and allurement reaped 
And black and shrouded. 


Thy highway is the road of weeping; 
Thy long farewells are bitterness 
Without a morrow; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ee SS Ee Se 


JORGE MANRIQUE 


Adown thy ruts and ditches keeping 
The traveller who doth most possess 
Hath most of sorrow. 


Thy chattels are but had with sighing; 
With sweat of brow alone obtained 
The wage they give; 

In myriads thine ills come hieing, 
And once existence they have gained, 
They longest live. 


And he, the shield and knightly pastor 
Of honest folk, beloved by all 
The unoffending,— 
Don Roderic Manrique, Master 
Of Santiago,—Fame shall call 
Him brave unending! 


Not here behooves to chant his praises 
Or laud his valor to the skies, 
_ Since none but knows them; 
Nor would I crave a word that raises 
His merit higher than the prize 
The world bestows them. 


O what a comrade comrades found him! 
Unto his henchmen what a lord! 
And what a brother! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


98 HISPANIC AN PRGEROGY: 


What foeman for the foes around him! 
His peer as Master of the Sword 
There was no other! 


What precious counsel ’mid the knowing! ' 
What grace amid the courtly bower! 
What prudence rare! 
What bounty to the vanquished showing! 
How ’mid the brave in danger’s hour 
A lion there! 


In destiny a new Augustus; 
A Cesar for his victories 
And battle forces; 
An Africanus in his justice; 
A Hannibal for energies 
And deep resources; 


A Trajan in his gracious hour; 
A Titus for his open hand 
And cheer unfailing; 
His arm, a Spartan king’s in power; 
His voice, a Tully’s to command 
The truth’s prevailing! 
In mildness Antoninus Pius; 
A Marc Aurelius in the light 
Of calm attending; 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


JORGE MANRIQUE 


A Hadrian to pacify us; 
A Theodosius in his right 
And high intending; 


Aurelius Alexander stern 
In discipline and laws of war 
Among his legions; 
A Constantine in faith eterne; 
Gamaliel in the love he bore 
His native regions. 


He left no weighty chests of treasure, 
Nor ever unto wealth attained 
Nor store excelling; 
To fight the Moors was all his pleasure 
And thus his fortresses he gained, 
Demesne, and dwelling. 


Amid the lists where he prevailed 
Fell knights and steeds into his hands 
Through fierce compression, 
Whereby he came to be regaled 
With vassals and with feudal lands 
In fair possession. 


Ask you how in his rank and station 
When first he started his career 
Himself he righted? 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


99 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Left orphan and in desolation 
His brothers and his henchmen dear 
He held united. 


And ask you how his course was guided 
When once his gallant deeds were famed 
And war was ended? 
His high contracting so provided 
That broader, as his honors claimed, 
His lands extended. ~ 


And these, the proud exploits narrated 
In chronicles to show his youth 
And martial force, 
With triumphs equal he was fated 
To re-affirm in very sooth 
As years did course. 


Then for the prudence of his ways, 
For merit and in high award 
Of service knightly, 
His dignity they came to raise 
Till he was Master of the Sword 
Elected rightly. 


Finding his father’s forts and manors 
By false intruders occupied 
And sore oppressed, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JORGE MANRIQUE 101 


| 
| 


With siege and onslaught, shouts and ban-| 
ners, 

His broad-sword in his hand to guide, | 
He re-possessed. 


And for our rightful king how well 
He bore the brunt of warfare keen 
In siege and action, 
Let Portugal’s poor monarch tell, 
Or those who in Castile have been 
Among his faction. 


Then having risked his life, maintaining 
The cause of justice in the fight 
For law appointed, 
With years in harness spent sustaining 
The royal crown of him by right 
His lord anointed, 


With feats so mighty that Hispania 
Can never make account of all 
In number mortal,— 
Unto his township of Ocafia 
Came Death at last to strike and call 
Against his portal: 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Speaketh Death 


“Good Cavalier,”—he  cried,—‘‘ divest 


you . 
Of all this hollow world of lies 
And soft devices; 
Let your old courage now attest you, 
And show a breast of steel that vies 
In this hard crisis! 


‘And since of life and fortune’s prizes 
You ever made so small account 
For sake of honor, 
Array your soul in virtue’s guises 
To undergo this paramount 
Assault upon her! 


“For you, are only half its terrors 
And half the battles and the pains 
Your heart perceiveth; 
Since here a life devoid of errors 
And glorious for noble pains 
To-day it leaveth; 


‘A life for such as bravely bear it 
And make its fleeting breath sublime 
In right pursuing, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


Se 


—— 


JORGE MANRIQUE 


Untainted, as is their’s who share it 
And put their pleasure in the grime 
Of their undoing; 


“The life that is The Everlasting 
Was never yet by aught attained 
Save meed eternal; 
And ne’er through soft indulgence casting 
The shadow of its solace stained 
With guilt infernal; 


“But in the cloister holy brothers 
Besiege it with unceasing prayer 
And hard denial; 
And faithful paladins are others 
Who ’gainst the Moors to win it bear 
With wound and trial. 


““And since, O noble and undaunted, 
Your hands the paynim’s blood have shed 
In war and tourney,— 
Make ready now to take the vaunted 
High guerdon you have merited 
For this great journey! 


“Upon this holy trust confiding, 
And in the faith entire and pure 
You e’er commended, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


104 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Away,—unto your new abiding, 
Take up the Life that shall endure 
When this is ended!” 


Respondeth the Grand-Master 


“Waste we not here the final hours 
This puny life can now afford 
My mortal being; 
But let my will in all its powers 
Conformable approach the Lord 
And His decreeing. 


“Unto my death I yield, contenting 
My soul to put the body by 
In peace and gladness; 
The thought of man to live, preventing 
God’s loving will that he should die, 
Is only madness.” 


The Supplication 


O Thou who for our weight of sin 
Descended to a place on earth 
And human feature; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JORGE MANRIQUE 105 


Thou who didst join Thy Godhead in 
A being of such lowly worth 
As man Thy creature; 


Thou who amid Thy dire tormenting 
Didst unresistingly endure 
Such pangs to ease us; 
Not for my mean deserts relenting, 
But only on a sinner poor, 
Have mercy, Jesus! 


The Codicil 


And thus, his hopes so nobly founded, 
His senses clear and unimpaired 
So none could doubt him,— 
With spouse and offspring fond surrounded, 
His kinsmen and his servants bared 
And knelt around him,— 


He gave his soul to Him who gave it, 
(May God in heaven ordain it place 
And share of glory!) 
And left our life as balm to save it, 
And dry the tears upon our face! 
His deathless story. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


106 HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


RODRIGUEZ DEL PADRON 
(About 1450) | 
TO THE VIRGIN 


RODRIGUEZ DEL PAapRON, known also as Rodri- 
guez de la Camara, is considered the last 
representative of the Galician troubadours in 
Spain. He is said to have been in love with 
a queen of Spain, and many fictitious accounts 
of him are discussed in Pidal’s Cancionero de 
Baena (Edition, 1860), and in Ticknor’s His- 
tory of Spanish Literature (vol. i, 355). 

O fire of light divine, 

Sweet Flame unscorching, pure,— 

Against dismay our countersign, 

Against all grief a cure,— 

Shine on thy servant poor!— 

The fickle glory of the world, 

Its vain prosperity, 

He contemplates; 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


RODRIGUEZ DEL PADRON| 107 


His reasonings profound behold 

The centre where there lie 

The ills he hates. 

Let him who thinks him wise 

The Siren’s call attend! 

She fearing in amend 

The torments that chastise, 

Weeps that her reign must end. 
—Roderick Gill. 


| AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


108 


[V 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


RODRIGO COTA DE MAGUAQUE 
(About 1492) 


ESPARSA 


RopDRIGO CoTa DE MAGUAQUE was a Christian- 
ized Jew, who has received mistaken notice as 
the author of the Coplas de Mingo Revulgo 
and the beginning of the Celestina. His 
most famous work is the Didlogo entre Amor 
yun Viejo. 


Clouded vision, light obscure, 
Moody glory, living death, 
Fortune that cannot endure, 
Fickle weeping, joy a breath, 
Bitter-sweet and sweet unsure, 
Peace and anger, sudden crossed, 
Such is love, its trappings sure 
Decked with glory for its cost. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


eo 


a lili i i ie 


| CRISTOBAL DE CASTILLEJO 


# 
4 
+ 


CRISTOBAL DE CASTILLEJO 


(1490-1550) 
WOMEN 


CRISTOBAL DE CASTILLEJO was born at Ciudad 
Rodrigo. He joined the household of Ferdi- 
nand I of Bohemia, the brother of Carlos V, 
and later becamea priest. In1539 he went to 
Venice in the suite of Diego Hurtado de 
Mendoza. He died in Vienna where he is 
buried at Wiener Stadt. His works were 
published at Madrid in 1792. C. L. Nicolay 
published The Life and Works of Cristebal 
de Castillejo (Philadelphia, 1910). 


How dreary and how lone 

The world would appear 

If women were none! 

*Twould be like a fair, 

With neither fun nor business there. 


Without their smile 
Life would be tasteless, vain, and vile; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


109 


IV 


1 @ fe) 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


A chaos of perplexity, 

A body without soul ’twould be; 

A roving spirit borne 

Upon the winds forlorn; 

A tree without or flowers or fruit, 

A reason with no resting place, 

A castle with no governor to it, 

A house without a base. 

What are we? What our race? 

How good for nothing and base 

Without fair woman to aid us 

What could we do? Where should we go? 

How should we wander in night and woe, 

But for woman to lead us? 

How could we love if woman were not? 

Love—the brightest part of our lot; 

Love—the only charm of living; 

Love—the only gift worth giving? 

Who would take charge of your house, say 
who? 

Kitchen, and dairy, and money-chest? 

Who but the women, who guard them best; 

Guard and adorn them too? 

Who like them has a constant smile, 

Full of peace, as meekness full, 

When life’s edge is blunt and dull, 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


CRISTOBAL DE CASTILLEJO 


And sorrow, and sin, in frowning file, 
Stand by the path in which we go 
Down to the grave through wasting woe? 
All that is good is theirs, is theirs 
All we give and all we get; 
And if a beam of glory yet 
Over the gloomy earth appears, 
O, ’tis theirs! O, ’tis theirs,— 
They are the guard,—the soul,— the seal 
Of human hope and human weal; 
They,—they,—none but they! 
Woman,—sweet woman,—let none say 

nay | 

—John Bowring. 


SOME DAY, SOME DAY 


Some day, some day 
O troubled breast, 
Shalt thou find rest. 
If Love in thee 

To grief give birth, 
Six feet of earth 
Can more than he; 
There calm and free 
And unoppressed 
Shalt thou find rest. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IIt 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


The unattained 
In life at last, 
When life is passed 
Shall all be gained; 
And no more pained, 
No more distresssed, 
Shalt thou find rest. 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


TO LOVE 


Love, grant me kisses beyond counting, 

As the hairs upon my head; 

A thousand and a hundred shed, 

A thousand more be their amounting, 

And then add thousands more again, 

So that none shall know the number, ~ 

And no record shall encumber 

With the list of where and when. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


a 


JUAN BOSCAN ALMOGAVER 


JUAN BOSCAN ALMOGAVER 
(1493-1540) 

ON THE DEATH OF GARCILASSO | 

| 


Juan BoscAN ALMOGAVER was born at Bar- 
celona, and served in the Spanish Army in 
Italy, later becoming tutor to the Duke of 
Alva. His early verses were written in the 
old Spanish manner, but when the Venetian 
ambassador Navagiero was passing through 
Granada he met BoscA4n and urged him to 
introduce the Italian styles of poetry into 
Spanish. He thereupon followed in the lead 
of Imperial and Santillana, and was most 
influential in establishing the Italian verse 
methods in Castilian. He frequently imi- 
tated Dante and Petrarch. His poems were 
first published with those of Garcilasso de 
la Vega in 1543. He madea masterly trans- 
lation of Castiglione’s I] Cortegiano, reprinted 
in 1873. His poems may be found in W. I. 
Knapp’s edition (Madrid, 1875). 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


114 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Tell me, dear Garcilasso,—thou 

Who ever aimedst at good, 

And in the spirit of thy vow 

So swift her course pursued 

That thy few steps sufficed to place 

The angel in thy loved embrace, 

Won instant soon as wooed,— 

Why took’st thou not, when winged to flee 
From this dark world, Boscan, with thee? 


Why, when ascending to the star 
Where now thou sit’st enshrined, 


Left’st thou thy weeping friend afar, 
Alas! so far behind? 

Oh, I do think, had it remained 
With thee to alter aught ordained 
By the Eternal Mind, 

Thou wouldst not on this desert spot 
Have left thy other self forgot! 


For if through life thy love was such 
As still to take a pride 

In having me so oft and much 

Close to thy envied side,— 

I cannot doubt, I must believe, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JUAN BOSCAN ALMOGAVER 


Thou wouldst at least have taken leave 

Of me; or, if denied, 

Have come back afterwards, unblest 

Till I too shared thy heavenly rest. 
ie TES WHEE 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


COMENDADOR JUAN ESCRIVA 


(About 1497) 
CANCION 


El Comendador Juan Escriva was of Valen- 
cian birth, and in 1497 went to Rome as 
ambassador for Ferdinand. He wrote verses 
in Cataldn and Castilian. Lope de Vega 
wrote a glosa on the present Cancion, which 
is also quoted by Calderén and Cervantes. 


Come Death, with so much stealth 
I shall not feel thee near; 
Let not thy joy appear 

The very breath of health! 


Come like the thrust that cleaves 
The wounded ere he knows 
The purport of the blows 

Which he, surprised, receives! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


‘ 


COMENDADOR JUAN ESCRIVA| 117 


Thy coming be by stealth 
Else unto me, I fear, 
Joy shall make thee appear 
The very breath of health. 
— Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


118 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


MOSSEN JUAN TALLANTE 


(Late fifteenth century) 
PRAYER TO THE CRUCIFIX 


MossEN JUAN TALLANTE was a devotional 
poet of Aragon, whose poems are to be found 
in the Cancionero General. Little is known of 
his life. 


Almighty God, unchangeable, 
Who framed the universe entire 
Thy truth to see; 
Thou who for loving us so well 
Didst in Thine agony expire 
On Calvary; 
Since with such suffering didst deign 
To make amend for our transgression, 
O Agnus Dei. 
Placed with the thief let us obtain 
Salvation in his grief’s confession: 
Memento met. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JUAN DE LA ELCINA 


JUAN DE LA ELCINA 
(1468-1529) 


COME LET US EAT AND DRINK 
TODAY 


JUAN DE LA ELcinA, so called from the prob- 
able place of his birth, was educated at the 
University of Salamanca and entered the 
household of the second Duke of Alva. He 
made several journeys to Rome where one 
of his dramatic pieces—Plécido y Victoriano— 
was produced in 1512. He becamea priest and 
‘was appointed chapel-master to Pope Leo X. 
In 1518 he made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem. 
He returned to Spain and died at Salamanca. 


Come, let us eat and drink today, 
And sing and laugh and banish sorrow, 
For we must part tomorrow. 


In Anstruejo’s honor, fill 
The laughing cup with wine and glee, 
And feast and dance with eager will, 
And crowd the hours with revelry, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


119 


10 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


For that is wisdom’s counsel still; 
Today be gay, and banish sorrow, ~ 
For we must part tomorrow. 


Honor the saint—the morning ray 
Will introduce the monster Death— 

There’s breathing space for joy today, 
Tomorrow ye shall gasp for breath; 

So now be frolicscome and gay, 

And tread joy’s round, and banish sorrow, 

For we must part tomorrow. 

—John Bowring. 


VILLANCICO 


So rare a flock 
In such a sward 
A pleasure tis to guard ! © 


A flock so rare, 
Of such a breed, 

Will quickly feed 

On land most bare; 
When grass is fair 

In such a sward 

A pleasure ’tis to guard! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JUAN DE LA ELCINA 


Tis my delight 

To lead the sheep 

And fold to sleep 

Their ranks by night; 
The frosts are slight, 

In such a sward 

A pleasure ’tis to guard ! 


The fruitful throng 

In silence goes; 

No bleating shows 

It suffers wrong; 

Ere shades grow long 
In such a sward 

A pleasure ’tis to guard! 


Tis well to mind 

The precious thing 

And safely bring 

Where no thieves find; 
A flock so kind 

In such a sward 

A pleasure ’tis to guard ! 


O shepherd charmed, 
In a happy vale, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Where the wolves may rail, 
But none is harmed; 

A flock unarmed 

In such a sward 

A pleasure ’tis to guard | 


A shepherd true 
Shall I alway be, 
Since a joy to me 
Is my flock to view; 
And I swear to you 
I shall ne’er discard, 
But ever faithful guard | 
— Roderick Giil. 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


DIEGO: DE, SALDANA 


DIEGO DE SALDANA 
(Late fifteenth century) 
EYES SO TRISTFUL 


Eyes so tristful, eyes so tristful, 

Heart so full of care and cumber, 

I was lapped in rest and slumber, 

Ye have made me wakeful, wistful! 

In this life of labor endless 

Who shall comfort my distresses? 

Querulous my soul and friendless 

Tn its sorrow shuns caresses. 

Ye have made me, ye have made me 

Querulous of you, that care not, 

Eyes so tristful, yet I dare not 

Say to what ye have betrayed me. 
—H.W. Longfellow. 


123 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


124 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


_|typical philosopher and man of letters of 


FRANCISCO SAA DE MIRANDA 
(1495-1558) 
WHERE IS DOMINGA? 


FRANCISCO SAA DE MIRANDA was born at 
Coimbra and graduated from the university 
there. He traveled through Rome, Venice, 
Naples, Milan, Florence and parts of Sicily 
as well as throughout Spain. He was the 


Portugal, and wrote in Spanish as well as in 
his native tongue. See his Obras (Lisbon, 


1595). 


All gather from the village here, 
But where’s Dominga?—Tell me where. 


The rest have come—they all have come; 
I’ve counted them, yes, one by one,— 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRANCISCO SAA DE MIRANDA 


But she’s not here, and O, I roam 
All desolate and all alone. 
What shall I do2?—without her, none 
My path can light, my way can cheer. 
Where is Dominga?—tell me where. 
—John Bowring. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


125 


126 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


OLD SPANISH BALLADS 


OLD Spanish Ballads are for the most part 
to be dated from the end of the fifteenth to 
the seventeenth centuries, although as Gaston 
Paris has pointed out, some of them are con- 
cerned with snatches from older epic poems. 
It is an intricate question among the critics 
and may be found discussed in the Journal 
des Savants (May and June, 1898); in 
Menéndez y Pelayo’s Tratado de los romances 
viejos, in the Antologia de los poetas liricos 
castellanos desde la formacion del idioma 
(vols. xi and xii, Madrid, 1890-1908), in 
Ramon Menéndez Pidal’s L’Epopée castellane 
a travers la litérature espagnole (Paris, 1910), 
and in M. R. Foulché-Delbose’s Essaz *sur 
les origines du Romancero (Paris, 1912). 


RIO VERDE 


I 


Rio Verde, Rio Verdel 
Many a corpse is bathed in thee, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


OLD SPANISH BALLADS | 127 


Both of Moors and eke of Christians, 
Slain with swords most cruelly. 


And thy pure and crystal waters 

Dappled are with crimson gore; 

For between the Moors and Christians 
Long the fight has been and sore. 

Dukes and counts fell bleeding near thee, 
Lords of high renown were slain, 

Perished many a brave hidalgo 

Of the noblemen of Spain. 


2 


Don Nufio, Count of Lara, 

In anger and in pride, 

Forgot all reverence for the King 
And thus in wrath replied: 

“Our noble ancestors,”’ quoth he, 
““Ne’er such a tribute paid; 

Nor shall the King receive of us 
What they have once gainsaid. 


“The base-born souls who deem it just 
May here with thee remain; 

But follow me, ye cavaliers, 

Ye gentlemen of Spain.” 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


128 


[ow 


HISPANIC ANTE OLOGYy: 


Forth followed they the noble Count, 
They marched to Glera’s plain; 

Out of three thousand gallant knights 
Did only three remain. 

They tied their tribute to their spears, 
They raised it in the air, 

And they sent to tell their lord the King 
That his tax was ready there. 


“He may send and take by force,” said 
they, 

“This paltry sum of gold, 

But the goodly gift of liberty 

Cannot be bought and sold.” 


3 


The peasant leaves his plough afield, 
The reaper leaves his hook, 
And from his hand the shepherd-boy 
Lets fall the pastoral crook. 


The young set up a shout of joy, 
The old forget their years, 

The feeble man grows stout of heart, 
No more the craven fears. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


OLD SPANISH BALLADS 


All rush to Bernard’s standard, 

And on liberty they call; 

They cannot brook to wear the yoke, 
When threatened by the Gaul. 


“Free were we born,” ’tis thus they cry, 
“And willingly pay we 

The duty that we owe our king 

By the divine decree. 


“But God forbid that we obey 
The laws of foreign knaves, 
Tarnish the glory of our sires, 
And make our children slaves. 


“Our hearts have not so craven grown, 
So bloodless all our veins, 

So vigorless our brawny arms, 

As to submit to chains. 


“Has the audacious Frank, forsooth, 
Subdued these seas and lands? 

Shall he a bloodless victory have? 
No, not while we have hands. 


“He shall learn that the gallant Leonese 
Can bravely fight and fall, 


129 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


130 


i 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


But that they know not how to yield; 
They are Castilians all. 


“Was it for this the Roman power 
Of old was made to yield 

Unto Numantia’s valiant hosts 

On many a bloody field? 


“Shall the bold lions that have bathed 
Their paws in Libyan gore, 

Crouch basely to a feebler foe, 

And dare the strife no more? 


“Let the false king sell town and tower 
But not his vassals free; 
For to subdue the free-born soul 
No royal power hath he!” 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


LORD ARNALDOS 


The strangest of adventures 
That happen by the sea, 
Befell to Lord Arnaldos 

On the Evening of Saint John; 
For he was out a-hunting— 


HISPANIC NOPa5 


OLD SPANISH BALLADS 


A huntsman bold was he!— 

When he beheld a little ship 

And close to land was she. 

Her cords were all of silver, 

Her sails of cramasy; 

And he who sailed the little ship 

Was singing at the helm; 

The waves stood still to hear him, 

The wind was soft and low; 

The fish who dwell in darkness 

Ascended through the sea, 

And all the birds in heaven 

Flew down to his mast-tree. 

Then spake the Lord Arnaldos,— 

(Well shall you hear his words!)— 

“Tell me, for God’s sake, sailor, 

What song may that song be?” 

The sailor spake in answer, 

And answer thus made he: 

“T only tell the song to those 

Who sail away with me.” 
—James Elroy Flecker. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


132 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


A VERY MOURNFUL BALLAD ON 
THE SIEGE AND CONQUEST 
OF ALHAMA 


The Moorish King rides up and down, 
Through Granada’s royal town; 
From Elvira’s gates to those 
Of Bivarambla on he goes. 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


Letters to the monarch tell 

How Alhama’s city fell; 

In the fire the scroll he threw, 

And the messenger he slew. 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


He quits his mule and mounts his horse, 
And through the street directs his course; 
Through the street of Zacatin 
To the Alhambra spurring in. 

Woe is me, Alhama! 


When the Alhambra’s walls he gained 
On the moment he ordained 
That the trumpet straight should sound 
With the silver clarion round. 

Woe is me, Alhama! 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


OLD SPANISH BALLADS 


And when the hollow drums of war 

Beat the loud alarm afar, 

That the Moors of town and plain 

Might answer to the martial strain, 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


Then the Moors, by this aware, 
That bloody Mars recalled them there, 
One by one, and two by two, 
To a mighty squadron grew. 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


Out then spoke an agéd Moor 
In these words the King before, 
“Wherefore call on us, O King? 
What may mean this gathering,” 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


“Friends, ye have, alas, to know 
Of a most disastrous blow; 
That the Christians, stern and bold, 
Have obtained Alhama’s hold.” 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


Out then spake old Alfaqui, 
With his beard so white to see, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


134 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


“Good King! thou art justly served! 
Good King! this thou hast deserved. 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


“By thee were slain, in evil hour, 
The Abencerrage, Granada’s flower; 
And strangers were received by thee 
Of Cordova the chivalry. 

Woe is me, Alhama! 


“And for this, O King, is sent 
On thee a double chastisement; 
Thee and thine, thy crown and realm, 
One last wreck shall overwhelm. 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


“He who holds no laws in awe, 
He must perish by the law; 
And Granada must be won, 
And thyselt with her undone.” 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


Fire flashed from out the old Moor’s eyes, 
The Monarch’s wrath began to rise, 
Because he answered, and because 
He spoke exceeding well of laws, 

Woe is me, Alhama! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


OLD SPANISH BALLADS | (135 


“There is no law to say such things 

As may disgust the ear of kings’’;— 

Thus, snorting with his choler, said 

The Moorish King, and doomed him dead. 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


Moor Alfaqui! Moor Alfaqui! 
Though the beard so hoary be, 
The King hath’sent to have thee seized 
For Alhama’s loss displeased. 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


And to fix thy head upon 

High Alhambra’s loftiest stone; 

That this for thee should be the law 

And others tremble when they saw. 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


“Cavalier and man of worth! 
Let these words of mine go forth! 
Let the Moorish monarch know 
That to him I nothing owe. 

Woe is me, Alhama! 


“But on my soul Alhama weighs 
And on my inmost spirit preys; 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


136 


IV 


HISPANIC ‘ANPHOLOGY: 


And if the King his land that lost 
Yet others may have lost the most. 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


“‘Sires have lost their children, wives 

Their lords, and valiant men their lives! 

One what best his love might claim 

Hath lost, another, wealth and fame. 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


“T lost a damsel in that hour, 

Of all the land the loveliest flower; 

Doubloons a hundred I would pay 

And think her ransom cheap that day.” 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


And as these things the old Moor said, 
They severed from the trunk his head; 
And to the Alhambra’s walls with speed 
’Twas carried as the King decreed. 

Woe is me, Alhama! 


And men and infants therein weep 
Their loss so heavy and so deep; 
Granada’s ladies, all she rears 
Within her walls, burst into tears. 
Woe is me, Alhama! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


OLD SPANISH BALLADS 


And from the windows o’er the walls 
The sable web of mourning falls; 
The King weeps as a woman o’er 
His loss, for it is much and sore. 
Woe is me, Alhama! 
—Lord Byron. 


THE FLIGHT FROM GRANADA 


There was crying in Granada when the] 
sun was going down,— 

Some calling on the Trinity—some calling’ 
on Mahoun! 

Here passed away the Koran,—there, in the 
Cross was borne,— 

And here was heard the Christian bell,—| 


and there the Moorish horn. 


Te Deum Laudamus! was up the Alcala 
sung; 

Down from the Alhambra’s minarets were 
all the crescents flung; : 


The arms thereon of Aragon they with) 


Castile’s display; 
One king comes in in triumph,—one weep- 
ing goes away. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


} 


IV 


138 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Thus cried the weeper, while his hands his 
old white beard did tear, 

“Farewell, farewell, Granada! thou city 
without peer! 

Woe, woe, thou pride of Heathendom! 
seven hundred years and more 

Have gone since first the faithful thy royal 
sceptre bore! 


“Thou wert the happy mother of an high 
renowned race; 

Within thee dwelt a haughty line that now 
go from their place; 

Within thee fearless knights did dwell, who 
fought with mickle glee 

The enemies of proud Castile—the bane 
of Christientie! 


“The mother of fair dames wert thou, of 
truth and beauty rare, 

Into whose arms did courteous knights for 

solace sweet repair; 

For whose dear sakes the gallants of Afric 
made display 

Of might in joust and battle on many a 
bloody day. 


HISPAN LOCO Gs 


OLD SPANISH BALLADS 


“Here gallants held it little thing for 
ladies’ sake to die, 

Or for the Prophet’s honor and pride of 
Soldanry ;— 

For here did valor flourish and deeds of 
warlike might 

Ennobled lordly palaces, in which was our} 
delight. 


“The gardens of thy Vega, its fields and) 
blooming bowers,— 

Woe, woe! I see their beauty gone, and 
scattered all their flowers! 

No reverence can he claim, the King that 
such a land hath lost,— 

On charger never can he ride, nor be heard 
among the host; 


“But in some dark and dismal place, where 
none his face may see, 
There weeping and lamenting, alone that 
King should be.” — 


Thus spoke Granada’s King as he was| 
riding to the sea, 


About to cross Gibraltar’s Strait away to 


Barbary; 


AND MONOGRAPHS | 


140 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Thus he in heaviness of soul unto his Queen 
did cry 

(He had stopped and ta’en her in his arms, 
for together they did fly). 


“Unhappy King! whose craven soul can 
brook” (she made reply) 

“To leave behind Granada—who hast not 
the heart to die! 

Now for the love I bore thy youth, thee 
gladly could I slay! 

For what is life to leave when such a crown 
is cast away?” 

—J. G. Lockhari. 


GENTLE RIVER, GENTLE RIVER 


Gentle river, gentle river, 

Lo, thy streams are stained with gore, 
Many a brave and noble captain 
Floats along thy willowed shore. 


All beside thy limpid waters, 

All beside thy sands so bright, 
Moorish chiefs and Christian warriors 
Joined in fierce and mortal fight. 


HISPANIC NOW@e Ss 


OLD SPANISH BALLADS 


Lords and dukes and noble princes 
On thy fatal banks were slain; 
Fatal banks that gave to slaughter 
All the pride and flower of Spain. 


There the hero, brave Alonso, 
Full of wounds and glory died; 
There the fearless Urdiales 
Fell a victim by his side. 


Lo! where yonder, Don Saavedra 
Through their squadrons slow retires; 
Proud Seville, his native city, 

Proud Seville his worth admires. 


Close behind a renegado 

Loudly shouts with taunting cry; 
“Vield thee, yield thee, Don Saavedra. 
Dost thou from the battle fly? 


“Well I know thee, haughty Christian, | 
Long I lived beneath thy roof; 
Oft I’ve in the lists of glory 
Seen thee win the prize of proof. 


“Well I know thy agéd parents, 
Well thy blooming bride I know; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


142 HISPANIC ANTROGLCEY, 


Seven years I was thy captive, 
Seven years of pain and, woe. 


‘“‘May our Prophet grant my wishes, 
Haughty chief, thou shalt be mine; 
Thou shalt drink that cup of sorrow 
Which I drank when I was thine.” 


Like a lion turns the warrior 

Back he sends an angry glare; 
Whizzing came the Moorish javelin, 
Vainly whizzing through the air. 


Back the hero full of fury 

Sent a deep and mortal wound; 
Instant sank the renegado 

Mute and lifeless on the ground. 


With a thousand Moors surrounded, 
Brave Saavedra stands at bay; 
Wearied out but never daunted, 
Cold at length the warrior lay. 


Near him, fighting, great Alonso 
Stout resists the Paynim bands; 
From his slaughtered steed dismounted 
Firm entrenched behind him stands. 


IV HISPA NI ClNOe aS 


OLD SPANISH BALLADS 


Furious press the hostile squadrons 
Furious he repels their rage; 

Loss of blood at length enfeebles; 
Who can war with thousands wage? 


Where yon rock the plain o’ershadows 

Close behind its foot retired, 

Fainting sank the bleeding hero, 

And without a groan expired. 
—Thomas Percy. 


ABENAMAR, ABENAMAR 


O thou Moor of Moreria, 

There were mighty signs and aspects 
On the day when thou wert born, 
Calm and lovely was the ocean, 
Bright and full the moon above. 
Moor, the child of such an aspect 
Never ought to answer falsely. 

Then replied the Moorish captive, 
(You shall hear the Moor’s reply): 


Nor will I untruly answer, 


Though I died for saying truth. 
I am son of Moorish sire. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


144 HISPANIC AN TROveCeY: 


My mother was a Christian slave. 

In my childhood, in my boyhood, 
Often would my mother bid me 

Never know the liar’s shame. 

Ask thou, therefore, King, thy question. 
Truly will I answer thee. 


Thank thee, thank thee, Abenamar, 
For thy gentle answer, thanks. 
What are yonder lofty castles, 
Those that shine so bright on high? 


That, O King, is the Alhambra, 
Yonder is the Mosque of God. 
There you see the Alixares, 

Works of skill and wonder they; 
Ten times ten doubloons the builder 
Daily for his hire received; 

If an idle day he wasted 

Ten times ten doubloons he paid. 
Farther is the Generalife, 

Peerless are its garden groves. 
Those are the Vermilion Towers, 
Far and wide their fame is known. 


Then spake up the King Don Juan 
(You shall hear the Monarch’s speech): 


HISPANIC SOs 


a 
: 


J 


OLD SPANISH BALLADS 145 


Wouldst thou marry me, Granada, 
Gladly would I for thy dowry 
Cordoba and Seville give. 


I am married, King Don Juan. 

King, I am not yet a widow. 

Well I love my noble husband. 

Well my wedded Lord loves me. 
—Robert Southey. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


146 HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


ANONYMOUS 
(Sixteenth century) 


THE SIESTA 


Vientecico murmurador, by an anonymous 
author. 


Airs that wander and murmur around, 
Bearing delight where’er ye blow! 

Make in the elms a lulling sound, 
While my lady sleeps in the shade below. 


Lighten and lengthen her noonday rest, 
' Till the heat of the noonday sun is o’er. 
Sweet be her slumbers! though in my breast 
The pain she has waked may slumber 
no more. 


Breathing soft from the blue profound, 
Bearing delight where’er ye blow, 

Make in the elms a lulling sound 
While my lady sleeps in the shade below. 


IV HISPAN TP CUNOGT Ess 


ANONYMOUS 


Airs! that ever the bending boughs, 
And under the shade of the pendent 
leaves, 
Murmur soft like my timid vows 
Or the secret sighs my bosom heaves— 


Gently sweeping the grassy ground, 
Bearing delight where’er ye blow, 
Make in the elms a lulling sound, 
While my lady sleeps in the shade below. 
—William Cullen Bryant. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


PEDRO DE CASTRO Y ANAYA 
(Sixteenth century) 


TO THE NIGHTINGALE 


PEDRO DE CASTRO y ANAYA was a Castilian 
poet of the sixteenth century about whom 
there are no other particulars. His works 
are to be found in the Biblioteca de autores 
espamoles (vol. xlii). He has been much 
admired for his poem, the Auroras de Diana. 


Bird of the joyous season! 
That from thy flower seat, 

Dost teach the forest singers 
Thy music to repeat. 


Thou wooer of the morning, 
That, to this wood withdrawn, 

Dost serenade the daybreak, 
Dost celebrate the dawn. 


Soul of this lonely region, 
That hearest me lament, 


IV HISPANIC ON Ges 


PEDRO DE CASTRO Y ANAYA 149 | 


My days in sighing wasted, | 
My nights in weeping spent. 


Chief lyrist of the woodland, 
And poet of the spring, 

That well art skilled in sorrow, 
And well of love can sing. 


Go where my lady loosens 
Her bright hair to the wind, 
Held in a single fillet, 
Or floating unconfined. 


The beautiful, and cruel, 
Whose steps where’er they pass 
Tread down more hearts of lovers 
Than lilies of the grass. 


Sweet nightingale, accost her, 
And in the tenderest strain 

Say Silvio loves thee, Cruel! 
Why lov’st thou not again? 


Then tell of all I suffer, 

How well have loved and long, 
And counsel her to pity, 

And tax her scorn with wrong. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


150 HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


IV 


My gentle Secretary! 
If harshly then she speak, 
Rebuke her anger, striking 
Her red lips with thy beak. 


Drink from her breath the fragrance 
Of all the blooming year, 
And bring me back the answer 
For which I linger here. 
—William Cullen Bryant. 


THE RIVULET 


Stay, rivulet, nor haste to leave 
The lovely vale that lies around thee. 
Why wouldst thou be a sea at eve, 
When but a fount the morning found 
thee? 


Born when the skies began td glow, 
Humblest of all the rock’s cold daughters, 

No blossom bowed its stalk to show 
Where stole thy still and scanty waters. 


Now on the stream the noonbeams look 
Usurping, as thou downward driftest, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


PEDRO DE CASTRO Y ANAYA 


Its crystal from the clearest brook, 
Its rushing current from the swiftest. 


Ah! what wild haste!—and all to be 
A river and expire in ocean. 
Each fountain’s tribute hurries thee 
To that vast grave with quicker motion. 


Far better ’twere to linger still 
In this green vale, these flowers to cher- 
ish, 
And die in peace, an aged rill, 
Than thus, a youthful Danube, perish. 
—William Cullen Bryant. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


152 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


GARCILASSO DE LA VEGA 
(1503-1536) 


TO THE FLOWER OF GNIDO 


GARCILASSO DE LA VEGA, the soldier-poet, was 
born at Toledo of a distinguished family. He 
served at the battle of Pavia and took part in 
several campaigns, winning the favor of Carlos 
V, and losing it through his supposed part ina 
conspiracy to marry his nephew to one of 
the Empress’s maids-of-honor. After some 
months of imprisonment on an island in the 
Danube, he retired to Naples. In 1533 he 
visited Bosc4n in Spain. He was mortally 
wounded while storming the walls of Muy 
near Fréjus. He died at Nice and two years 
later was buried at Toledo. He shared in 
Boscdn’s Italian innovations of style and, 
in the few works that he left, is seen to surpass 
him. Las Obras de Boscén y algunas de Garci- 
lasso de la Vega were first published at Bar- 
celona in 1543. There is a good edition by 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GARCILASSO DE LA VEGA 


Tomas Navarro Tomas in the series of Cldsi- 
cos castellanos (Madrid, 1911). 


Had I the sweet resounding lyre 
Whose voice could in a moment chain 

The howling wind’s ungoverned ire, 
And movement of the raging main; 
On savage hills the leopard rein, 

The lion’s fiery soul entrance, 
And lead along with golden tones 
The fascinated trees and stones 

In voluntary dance,— 


Think not, think not, fair Flower of Gnide, 
It e’er should celebrate the scars, 
Dust raised, blood shed, or laurels dyed 
Beneath the gonfalon of Mars; 
Or borne sublime on festal cars, 
The chiefs who to submission sank 
The rebel German’s soul of soul, 
And forged the chains that now control 
The frenzy of the Frank. 


No, no! its harmonies should ring 
In vaunt of glories all thine own, 
A discord sometimes from the string 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


154 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Struck forth to make thy harshness 
known; 
The fingered chords should speak alone 
Of Beauty’s triumphs, Love’s alarms, 
And one who, made by thy disdain 
Pale as a lily clipt in twain, 
Bewails thy fatal charms. 


Of that poor captive, too, contemned, 
I speak,—his doom you might deplore— 
In Venus’ galliot-shell condemned 
To strain for life the heavy oar. 
Through thee no longer as of yore 
He tames the unmanageable steed, 
With curb of gold his pride restrains, 
Or with pressed spurs and shaken reins 
Torments him into speed. 


Not now he wields for thy sweet sake 
The sword in his accomplished hand, 
Nor grapples like a poisonous snake, 
The wrestler on the yellow sand; 
The old heroic harp his hand 
Consults not now, it can but kiss 
The amorous lute’s dissolving strings, 
Which murmur forth a thousand things 
Of banishment from bliss. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


From a print in the Hispanic Society of America 


Garcilasso de la Vega 


GARCILASSO DE LA VEGA! 157 


Through thee, my dearest friend and best 
Grows harsh, importunate, and grave; 
Myself have been his port of rest 

From shipwreck and the yawning wave; 
Yet now so high his passions rave 
Above lost reason’s conquered laws, 
That not the traveller ere he slays 
The asp, its sting, as he my face 
So dreads, or so abhors. 


In snows on rocks, sweet Flower of Gnide, 
Thou wert not cradled, wert not born, 
|She who has no fault beside 
Should ne’er be signalized for scorn; 
Else, tremble at the fate forlorn 
Of Anaxarete, who spurned 
The weeping Iphis from her gate, 
Who, scoffing long, relenting late, 
Was to a statue turned. 
) 


Whilst yet soft pity she repelled, 
Whilst yet she steeled her heart in pride, 
From her friezed window she beheld 
Aghast, the lifeless suicide; 
Around his lily neck was tied 
What freed his spirit from her chains, 


3 HISPANIC NOTES IV 


158 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


And purchased with a few short sighs 
For her immortal agonies, 
Imperishable pains. 


Then first she felt her bosom bleed 
With love and pity; vain distress! 
Oh what deep rigors must succeed 
This first sole touch of tenderness! 
Her eyes grow glazed and motionless, 
Nailed on his wavering corse, each bone 
Hardening in growth, invades her flesh, 
Which, late so rosy, warm, and fresh, 
Now stagnates into stone. 


From limb to limb the frost aspire, 
Her vitals curdle with the cold; 

The blood forgets its crimson fire, 
The veins that e’er its motion rolled; 
Till now the virgin’s glorious mould 

Was wholly into marble changed, 
On which the Salaminians gazed, 
Less at the prodigy amazed, 

Than of the crime avenged. 


Then tempt not thou Fate’s angry arms, 
By cruel frown or icy taunt; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GARCILASSO DE LA VEGA 


But let thy perfect deeds and charms 
To poets’ harps, Divinest, grant 
Themes worthy their immortal vaunt; 

Else must our weeping strings presume | 
To celebrate in strains of woe, 

The justice of some signal blow 

That strikes thee to the tomb. 

—J. H. Wiffen. 


CHANGE 


Enjoy the sweets of life’s luxuriant May, 
Ere envious Age is hastening on his way 
With snowy wreaths to crown the beaute- 
ous brow; 
The rose will fade when storms assail the 
year, 
And Time who changeth not his swift career, 
Constant in this, will change all else 
below! 
—Felicia D. Hemans. 


ECLOGUE 


SALICIO AND NEMOROSO 


The sweet lament of two Castilian swains, 
Salicio’s love and Nemoroso’s tears, 


MONOGRAPHS 


AND 


160 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


In sympathy I sing, to whose loved strains 

Their flocks, of food forgetful, crowding 
round, 

Were most attentive. Pride of Spanish 
peers! 

Who by thy splendid deeds, hast gained a 
name 

And rank on earth unrivalled,—whether 
crowned 

With cares, Alvano, wielding now the rod 

Of empire, now the dreadful bolts that 
tame 

Strong kings, in motion to the trumpet’s 
sound, 

Express vice-regent of the Thracian God; 

Or whether, from the cumbrous burden 
freed 

Of state affairs, thou seek’st the echoing 
plain, 

Chasing, upon thy spirited fleet steed 

The trembling stag that bounds abroad in 
vain 

Lengthening out life—though deeply now 
engrossed 

By cares, I hope, so soon as I regain 

The leisure I have lost, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GARCILASSO DE LA VEGA 


To celebrate, with my recording quill 
Thy virtues and brave deeds, a starry sum, 
Ere grief, or age, or silent death turn chill 
My poesy’s warm pulse, and I become 
Nothing to thee, whose worth the nations 
blaze. 
Failing thy sight and songless in thy praise. 
But till that day, predestined by the Muse, 
Appears to cancel the memorial dues, 
Owed to thy glory and renown,—a claim 
Not only upon me, but which belongs 
To all fine spirits that transmit to fame 
Ennobling deeds in monumental songs,— 
Let the green laurel whose victorious boughs 
Clasp in endearment thine illustrious brows 
To the weak ivy give permissive place, 
Which rooted in thy shade, thou first of 
trees, _ , 
May hope by slow degrees, 
To tower aloft, supported by thy praise; 
Since Time to thee sublimer strains shall 
bring, 
Hark to my shepherds, as they sit and sing. 
The sun, from rosy billows risen, had rayed 
With gold the mountain tops, when at the 
foot 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


162 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Of a tall beech romantic, whose green shade 

Fell on a brook, that, sweet-voiced as a 
lute, 

Through lively pastures wound its spark- 
ling way, 

Sad on the daisied turf Salicio lay; 

And in a voice in concord to the sound 

Of all the.many winds, and waters round, 

As o’er the mossy stones they swiftly stole, 

Poured forth in melancholy song his soul 

Of sorrow with a fall 

So sweet, and aye so mildly musical, 

None could have thought that she whose 


seeming guile 

Had caused his anguish, absent was the 
while, 

But that in very deed the unhappy youth 

Did, face to face, upbraid her questioned 
truth. 


—J. H. Wiffen. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GIL VICENTE 


GIL VICENTE (? —1557) 


CANTIGA 


Git VICENTE passed his life in Portugal. He 
was of good family, although his history is 
far from certain. During his years at the|' 
Portuguese court he wrote many plays, a large 
number in Spanish and with Spanish motives. 
See Menéndez y Pelayo’s Antologia de poetas 
liricos castellanos (Madrid, 1890-1908, vol. ii). 


Full of grace exceedingly, 

As she hath charm and loveliness; 
Speak, O sailor of the sea, 

And from out thy bark, confess 
That never ship nor sail can be 
Beautiful as she. 

Speak, thou knightly man-at-arms, 
Boasting of thy panoply,— 

Are horse or sword or war-alarms 
Beautiful as she? 

Speak, thou shepherd of the hills, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


164 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Where thine idle flocks are free,— 

Are there peaks or vales or rills 

Beautiful as she? 
—Thomas Walsh. 


THE NIGHTINGALE 


The rose looks out in the valley 
And thither will I go! 

To the rosy vale where the nightingale 
Sings his song of woe. 


The virgin is on the river-side 

Culling the lemons pale; 
Thither,—yes! thither will I go 

To the rosy vale where the nightingale 
Sings his song of woe. 


The fairest fruit her hand hath culled, 
Tis for her lover all, 
Thither,—yes! thither will I go 
To the rosy vale where the nightingale 
Sings his song of woe. 


In her hat of straw, for her gentle-swain, 
She has placed the lemons pale; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GIL VICENTE 


Thither,—yes! thither will I go 
To the rosy vale where the nightingale 
Sings his song of woe. 
—John Bowring. 


SONG 


It thou art sleeping, maiden, 
Awake and open thy door. 

Tis the break of day, and we must away 
O’er meadow, and mount, and moor. 


Wait not to find thy slippers, 
But come with thy naked feet; 
We shall have to pass through the dewy 
grass 
And waters wide and fleet. 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


166 HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


SAINT TERESA (1515-1582) 


LINES WRITTEN IN HER BREVIARY};: 


SAINT TERESA of Avila, was born Teresa de 
Cepeda y Ahumada, at Avila. In 1534 she 
became a Carmelite nun and began her 
reforms and foundations. Known as the 
Madre Teresa de Jestis, she gave evidence 
of the highest practical talents and of inspira- 
tion as a mystical writer. Her style is simple 
but passionate with sincerity and elevation. 
She was canonized in 1612 and was declared 
co-patron of Spain with Santiago. The best 
edition of her works.was edited by Vicente 
de la Fuente at Madrid in 1881. Mrs. 
Cunninghame Grahame has published Saznt 
Teresa, her Life and Times (London, 1891). 


Let nothing disturb thee, 
Nothing affright thee; 
All things are passing; 
God never changeth; 
Patient endurance 


HISPANIC NOTES 


Saint Teresa 
(Teresa de Cepeda y Ahumada) 


SAINT TERESA 169 


Attaineth to all things; 
Who God possesseth 
In nothing is wanting; 
Alone God sufficeth. 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


“TF, LORD, THY LOVE FOR ME IS 
STRONG” 


If, Lord, Thy love for me is strong 
As this which binds me unto Thee, 
What holds me from Thee, Lord, so long, 
What holds Thee, Lord, so long from me? 


O soul, what then desirest thou? 

—Lord, I would see Thee, who thus choose 
- ‘Thee. 

What fears can yet assail thee now? 

—All that I fear is but to lose Thee. 


Love’s whole possession I entreat, 
Lord, make my soul Thine own abode, 
And I will build a nest so sweet 

It may not be too poor for God. 


O soul in God hidden from sin, 
What more desires for thee remain, 


HISPANIC NOTES IV 


170 HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Save but to love, and love again, 
And, all on flame with love within, 
Love on, and turn to love again? 


IV 


—Arthur Symons. 


“LET MINE EYES SEE THEE” 


Let mine eyes see Thee, 
Sweet Jesus of Nazareth, 
Let mine eyes see Thee, 
And then see death. 


Let them see that care 
Roses and jessamine; 
Seeing Thy face most fair 
All blossoms are therein. 
Flower of seraphim, 
Sweet Jesus of Nazareth 
Let mine eyes see Thee, 
And then see death. 


Nothing I require 
Where my Jesus is; 
Anguish all desire, 
Saving only this; 
All my help is His, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


SAINT TERESA 


He only succoreth. 
Let mine eyes see Thee, 
Sweet Jesus of Nazareth, 
Let mine eyes see Thee, 
And then see death. 
—Arthur Symons. 


“TO-DAY A SHEPHERD” 


To-day a shepherd and our kin, 
O Gil, to random us is sent, 
And He is God Omnipotent. 


For us hath He cast down the pride 
And prison wall of Satanas; 
But He is of the kin of Bras, 
_Of Menga, also of Llorent. 
O is not God Omnipotent? 


If He is God, how then is He 
Come hither and here crucified? 
—With His dying sin also died, 
Enduring death the innocent. 
Gil, how is God Omnipotent! 


Why, I have seen Him born, pardie. 
And of a most sweet shepherdess. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


172 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


—If He is God how can He be 
With such poor folk as these content? 
—Seest not He is Omnipotent? 


* Give over idle parleyings 
And let us serve Him, you and I, 
And since He came on earth to die, 
Let us die with Him too, Llorent; 
For He is God Omnipotent. 
—Arthur Symons. 


“SHEPHERD, SHEPHERD, HARK” 


Shepherd, shepherd, hark that calling! 
Angels they are, and the day is dawning. 


What is this ding-dong, 

Or loud singing is it? 

Come, Bras, now the day is here, 

The shepherdess we'll visit. 

Shepherd, shepherd, hark that calling! 

Angels they are, and the day is dawn- 
ing. 


Oh, is this the Alcalde’s daughter, 
Or some lady come from far? 


HISPANIC NOTES 


SAINT TERESA 


She is the daughter of God the Father, 

And she shines like a star. 

Shepherd, shepherd, hark that calling! 

Angels they are, and the day is dawning. 
—Arthur Symons. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


174 HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


GREGORIO DE SILVESTRE 
(1520-1569) 


LOVE’S VISITATION 


GREGORIO DE SILVESTRE was born at Lisbon, 
the son of a royal physician. He adopted the 
fashion of Castillejo in abusing the Italianate 
writers, but later wrote poems in that man- 
ner. He died as organist of the cathedral of 
Granada. See Biblioteca de autores espanoles 
(vol. xxxv). 


Certain Verses very weary 

On their laggard footsteps coming 

In the Tuscan manner dreary, 

Chanced upon a lover humming 

Of his woes and bitter sorrows 

In the heavy-footed measures 

And the leaden-weighted treasures 

That were used in ancient morrows— 
Heaven forgive our Castillejo 

For having praised these oldtime lays so!— 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


GREGORIO DE SILVESTRE| 175 


“And whence,” said Love in passion, 
“This measure so o’erweighted 

Our ears have so much hated?” 
They answered in this fashion: 
“This is a foreign gabble, 

The subject without reason, 

To common-sense such treason 

That the lady doubts the rabble 

Is a-cursing her or praising 

When she hears its voices raising.” 
“See, though the device are using 
Garcilasso and Boscan, 

This for utmost soarings choosing, 
Though a Roland is each man, 

Even they find insufficient 

This false artificial plan. 

’Tis for your own damage making 

A perverse, mad, undertaking,— 
Through my kingdom idly spreading 
The false coinage they are shedding.” 


"|“To the chatelaine or maiden 

(Venus asks) what rash pretender 
Speaks the cares with which he’s laden 
On a speech no mind can render? 

You, nor I, nor she, are able 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


To feel very comfortable, 

When we see the very ladies 

That we die for, and each maid is 

Quite unsure it it’s a joke 

Or a satire that we poke 

In this rigmarole from Hades.” 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LUIS VAZ DE CAMOENS 


177 


LUIS VAZ DE CAMOENS (1524-1580) | 


ADIEU TO COIMBRA 


Luis VAz DE CAMOENS, the glory of Portu- 
guese literature, is also famous for his poetry 
in Spanish. He was born and died at Lisbon 
and through birth occupied a distinguished 
place at court until an unhappy love affair 
banished him from the city in 1547. He 
joined the army and later lost an eye at the 
naval battle of Ceuta. Returning from Goa 
in 1570, after persecution and imprisonment, 
he fell into poverty and obscurity and so 
died. His great work the Os Lusiadas was 
published first in 1572. 


Sweet lucent waters of Mondego’s stream, 

Of my Remembrance restful jouissance, 

Where far-fet, lingering, traitorous Esper- 
ance . 

Longwhile misled me in a blinding Dream; 

From you I part. yea, still I’ll ne’er mis- 
deem 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


178 HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


That long-drawn Memories which your 
charms enhance 

Forbid me changing and, in every chance, 

E’en as I farther speed I nearer seem. 


Well may my Fortunes hale this instrument 

Of Soul o’er new strange regions wide and 
side, 

Offered to winds and watery element; 

But hence my Spirit, by you companied, 

Borne on the nimble wings that Reverie 
lent, 

Flies home and bathes her, Waters, in your 
tide. 

—R. F. Burton. 


VILLA NCICO—“T’LL BE A MARINER” 


I'll go to yon boat, my Mother; 
O yes! to yon boat J’ll go; 

T’ll go with the mariner, Mother, 
And be a mariner too. 


Mother, there’s no withstanding; 
For whereso’er I am driven 
It is by the will of heaven, 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


From a print in the Hispanic Society of America 


Luis Vaz de Camoéns 


LUIS VAZ DE CAMOENS 


Or the infant god’s commanding; 

He plays with my heart at will, 
I feel it with love o’erflow; 

I'll go with the mariner, Mother, 
And be a mariner too. 


Mother, ’tis vain complaining; 
Omnipotence is his boast; 
I feel that my soul is lost, 
And nought but my body remaining; 
The mariner’s dying, Mother— 
He must not die—I’ll go— 
Ill go with the mariner, Mother, 
And be a mariner too. 


He’s a tyrant without example! 
This little usurping lord, 
With a single look or word 
A king in the dust will trample; 
If the mariner goes, my Mother, 
If the mariner’s bent to go, 
I'll go with the mariner, Mother, 
And be a mariner too. 


Tell me, ye waves, if ever 
A nymph so soft and fair 
Sped o’er your waters there; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


HISPANIC ANTERGLeGe. 


Tell me, ye waves! O never! 

Tis nothing to me, my Mother— 
What love commands I’ll do; 
I'll go with my mariner, Mother, 

And be a mariner too. 
—John Bowring. 


ON THE DEATH OF CATARINA DE 
ATTAYDA 


Those charming eyes within whose starry 
sphere 

Love whilom sat, and smiled the hours 
away,— 

Those braids of light, that shamed the 
beams of day,— 

That hand benignant, and that heart 
sincere,— 

Those virgin cheeks, which did so late 
appear 

Like snow-banks scattered with the blooms 
of May, 

Turned to a little cold and worthless clay, 

Are gone, forever gone, and perished here,— 


But not unbathed by Memory’s warmest 
tear! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LUIS VAZ DE CAMOENS | 


Death thou hast torn, in one unpitying hour, 
That fragrant plant, to which, while scarce 
a flower, 
The mellower fruitage of its prime was 
given; 
Love saw the deed,—and as he lingered near 
Sighed o’er the ruin, and returned to 
heaven! 
—R. F. Burton. 


ON REVISITING CINTRA AFTER THE 
DEATH OF CATARINA 


Apparel of green woods and meadows gay; 
Clear and fresh waters innocent of stain, 
Wherein the field and grove are found 


again, 
As from high rocks ye take your downward 
way; 
And shaggy peaks, and ordered disarray 
Of crags abrupt, know that ye strive in 
vain, 
Till grief consent, to soothe the eye of 
pain, 
Shown the same scene that Pleasure did 


survey. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


184 HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Nor as erst seen am: I beheld by you, - 
Rejoiced no more by fields of pleasant 
green, 
Or lively runnels laughing as they dart; 
Sown be these fields with seeds of ruth and 
rue, 
And wet with brine of welling tears, till 
seen 
Sere with the herb that suits the 
broken heart. 
— Richard Garnett. 


BABYLON AND SION (GOA AND 
LISBON) 


Here, where fecundity of Babel frames 
Stuff for all ills wherewith the world 
doth teem, 
Where loyal Love is slurred with dis- 
esteem, 
For Venus all controls, and all defames; 
Where vice’s vaunts are counted, virtue’s 
shames; 
Where Tyranny o’er Honor lords su- 
preme; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LUIS VAZ DE CAMOENS 


Where blind and erring sovereignty doth 
deem 
That God for deeds will be content with 
names; > 


Here in this world where whatso is, is 
wrong, 
Where Birth and Worth and Wisdom 


begging go 


To doors of Avarice and Villainy,— 


Trammelled in the foul chaos, I prolong 
My days, because I must. Woe to me! 
~ Woe! i 
Sion, had I not memory of thee! 
—Richard Garnett. 


SONNET 


Leave me, all sweet refrains my lip hath 
made; 
Leave me, all instruments attuned for 
song; 
Leave me, all fountains pleasant meads 
among; 
Leave me, all charms of garden and of glade; 
Leave me all melodies the pipe hath played; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


185 


186 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Leave me, all rural feast and sportive 
throng; 
Leave me, all flocks the reed beguiles 
along; ‘ 
Leave me, all shepherds happy in the shade. 


Sun, moon and stars, for me no longer 
glow; 
Night would I have, to wail for vanished 
peace; 
Let me from pole to pole no pleasure 
know; 
Let all that I have loved and cherished 
cease; 
But see that thou forsake me not, my Woe, 
Who wilt, by killing, finally release. 
—Richard Garnett. 


SONNET 


Time and the mortal will stand never fast; 
Estrangéd fates man’s confidence es- 
trange; 
Aye with new quality imbued, the vast 
World seems but victual of voracious 
change. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LUIS VAZ DE CAMOENS 


New endless growth surrounds on every 
side, 
Such as we deemed not earth could ever 
bear, 
Only doth sorrow for past woe abide, 
And sorrow for past good, if good it were. 


Now Time with green hath made the 
meadows gay, 

Late carpeted with snow by winter frore, 
And to lament hath turned my gentle lay; 
Yet of all change this chiefly I deplore, 

The human lot, transformed to ill alway, 
Not chequered with rare blessing as of 

yore. 
—Richard Garnett. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


188 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


FRAY LUIS DE LEON (1528-1591) 


IMITATIONS OF VARIOUS 
AUTHORS 


Fray Luis DE LEON was born at Belmonte 
of Cuenca, of presumably Jewish origin. 
At an early age he entered the Augustinian 
Order at Salamanca and rapidly became one 
of the most distinguished figures in the life 
and history of that university. In 1572, his 
enemies had him imprisoned and tried before 
the Inquisition on charges of irregular teach- 
ings regarding the Vulgate Bible, and it was 
almost six years before he regained his liberty, 
proving his orthodoxy and innocence. He 
was at first esteemed as a great theologian, 
but in later years he has been recognized as the 
greatest lyric poet, in Castilian, and one of 
the great masters of the world in devotional 
song. His poems, of which there are innu- 
merable editions, were first published by 
Quevedo. The best edition is that of A. 
Merino (Madrid, 1816). 


HISPANIC NOTES 


From ‘‘Pacheco's Album”’ 


Fray Luis de Leén 


FRAY LUIS DE LEON 


That haughty tyranny of thine, 
That neck unbending, Love shall take, 
_I vow, and victim of thee make 
In harsh subjection to repine. 
Live out thy vain and care-free days, 
Love’s bitter ways 
Shall charge the measure of my score, 
When of thy sorrow none shall more 
Take any notice whoso pays. 


When through the golden locks that crown 
Thy brows the scattered snows shall run, 
And thy twin daystars have begun 

To dim their lights of old renown; 

When the first wrinkle line shall sear 

Thy visage clear, 

And beauty’s time is done and over, 

And he is fugitive—the lover 

That found the rose so fresh and dear; 


When thou shalt see thy cause is lost, 
And findst thy loving is but weeping, 
Thou then shalt know the woe unsleeping 

In love that with no love is crossed; 

Lady, then with grief shalt say, 

That hapless day :— 


HISPANIC NOTES 


192 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


“Would I had now, alas, my fate! 
That beauty that was mine of late, 
Or that old love I cast away!” 


The thousands whom your coldness spurned 
And left to sorrows, on that day 
Of vengeance shall be glad and gay 
When they have thy discomfort learned; 
And Love himself shall take the wing 
And publishing 
The novel tale of thy disgrace, 
To all who mock shall show thy face 
To warn them ’gainst the loveless thing. 


Alas, by heaven, my lady fair, 
Behold thyself in flower so pure 
And gracious that cannot endure, 

But left unplucked is lost fore’er; 

And since no less discreet thou art 

In equal part 

Than fair and scornful to the view, 

Look thou how everything is due 

And subject to the loving heart! 

’Tis Love that governs all the skies 
With law eternal and most sweet; 

Thinkst thyself strong enough to meet 


HISPANIC NOTES 


eS ee 


FRAY LUIS DE LEON 


Such foe in this poor world of lies? 
’Tis Love gives movement and delight | 
And beauty’s might, 

It is the very sweet of life; 

So that the fate with it at strife 
Is saddened with a pauper’s blight. 


Of what avail the golden cup, 
The silken vesture and brocade, 
The ceiling with its gems inlaid, 
The piles of treasures mounting up? 
Of what avail the fertile breast 
Of all earth’s best, | 
And its adoring—if in fine, 
O lady, slumbering be thine | 
Alone where the cold couch is dressed? 
—Thomas Walsh. 
| 
| 
/ 
' 


AT THE ASCENSION 


And wouldst Thou, Holy Shepherd, leave 
Thy flock within this vale of woe 
And solitude to grieve, 
Whilst Thou through ambient skies 
aglow 
Ascendst where death and sorrow cannot 
go! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


194 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


But they—so blesséd in the past, 
Yet now with hearts afflicted sore— 

Thy little ones, outcast, - 
Bereft of Thee their guide of yore— 
Whither shall turn they when Thou 

leadst no more? 


What now remains to glad the eyes 
That once Thy comeliness have known? 
What longer can they prize? 
What voices, but discordant grown 
To them who hearkened to Thy loving 
tone? 


The waves of yon perturbéd deep, 
Whose hand shall curb?>—Who now 
assuage 
The blasts and bid them sleep? 
In Thine eclipse,—what star presage 
For our benighted bark the harborage? 


Alas! swift cloud unpitying 
That bidst our joys no more endure,— 
Whither thy silvery wing? 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRAY LUIS DE LEON 


How rich the bliss thou dost secure!— 
How beggared wilt thou leave us, how 
obscure !— 
—Thomas Walsh. 


TO THE POET JUAN DE GRIAL 


Now is earth’s loveliness withdrawn 
Unto her bosom; now the heavens are 
stoled 
In vesture of the fading lawn; 
~ And from the branches’ lifeless hold 
Leaf after leaf unto the ground is doled. 


Now Phoebus turns on sunlit tread 
Along A®gean shores; the coursing day 
Runs swifter; noontide is bespread 
With herding of the fleeces gray 
Of Eélus upon his blustery way. 


By dim horizons go the cranes 
Of Ibycus, migrating with their cry 
Portentous; and the bullock strains 
Against the yoke with shoulders high, 
Turning his patient furrows to the sky. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


196 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


To noble studies would the hours, 
Grial, convene us; now the voice of 
Fame 
Calls upward to her sacred towers, 
And to that summit bids us aim 
Where never yet the breath of passions 
came. 


And at her calling, bolder strides 
The foot upon the mountain, so it gains 
The final peak whence purest glides 
The fountain without worldly stains; 
Drink there thy fill, and thirst no more 
remains. 


Then naught to thee is golden lure 
That snares mankind upon a fevered 
quest 
For that which can no more endure 
Than gossamer the zephyr’s breast 
Is wafting light and fickle without rest. 


Doth God Apollo smile?—then write; 
Be peer with olden poets,—take thy 
stand 
Above our newer bards in might; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ee 


a 


Os a 


FRAY LUIS DE LEON 197 


But oh, dear friend, not hand in hand 
May’st hope to clasp me on that songful 
strand! 


For I whom whirlwinds have assailed, 
And treachery from high adventuring 
Down to the very grime hath haled, 
Find broken—I a wounded thing— 
My lyre belovéd and my soaring wing. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


THE NIGHT SERENE 


When I contemplate o’er me 
The heaven of stars profound, 
And mark the earth before me 
In darkness swathed around,— 
In careless slumber and oblivion bound; 


Then love and longing waken 
The anguish of my soul; 
Mine eyes with tears are taken 
Like founts beyond control, 
My voice sighs forth at last its voice 
of dole:— 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


198 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


O Temple-Seat of Glory, 
Of Beauteousness and Light, 
To thy calm promontory 
My soul was born! What blight 
Holds it endungeoned here from such a 
height? 


What mortal aberration 
Hath so estranged mankind 
That from God’s destination 
He turns, abandoned, blind, 
To follow mocking shade and empty 
rind? 


No thought amid his sluniber © 
He grants impending fate, 
While nights and dawns keep number 
In step apportionate, 
And life is filched away—his poor estate. 


Alas!—arise, weak mortals, 
And measure all your loss! 
Begirt for deathless portals, 
Can souls their birthright toss 
Aside,’ and live on shadows vain and 
dross? 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRAY LUIS DE LEON 


Oh, let your eyes beholding 
Yon pure celestial sphere, 
Unmask the wiles enfolding 
The life that flatters here— 
The little day of mingled hope and fear! 


What more can base earth render 
Than one poor moment’s pause, 
Compared with that far splendor 
Where in its primal cause 
Lives all that is—that shall be—and 
that was! 


Who on yon constellation 
Eternal can set gaze,— 
Its silvery gradation, 
Its majesty of ways, / 


The concord-and proportion it dispiays,— | 


In argent wonder turning 
The moon doth nightly rove, 
Squired by the Star of Learning 
And melting Star of Love, 
She trails with gentle retinue above— 


And lo! through outer spaces 
Where Mars is rolled aflame! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


200 HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Where Jupiter retraces 
The calmed horizon’s frame 
And all the heavens his ray beloved 
acclaim! 


Beyond swings Saturn, father 
Of the fabled age of gold; 
And o’er his shoulders gather 
Night’s chantries manifold, 
In their proportioned grade and lustre 

stoled!— 


Who can behold such vision 
And still earth’s baubles prize? 
Nor sob the last decision 
To rend the bond that ties 
His soul a captive from such blissful 
skies? 


For there Content hath dwelling; 
And Peace, her realm; and there 
’Mid joys and glories swelling 
Lifts up the dais fair 
With Sacred Love enthroned beyond 
compare. 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


FRAY LUIS DE LEON 


Immensurable Beauty 
Shows cloudless to that light; 
And there a Sun doth duty 
That knows no stain of night; 
There Spring Eternal blossoms without 
blight. 


O fields of Truth-Abiding! 
Green pasturelands and rills! 
And mines of treasures hiding! 
O joyous-breasted hills! 
Re-echoing vales where every balm 
distils! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


TO RETIREMENT 


At last, O thou serene retreat 
From all my wanderings! Thou balm 
desired 
So long, that bringst me healing sweet 
From wounds naught else can heal! 
Inspired 
Seclusion, gracious welcome for ‘the 
tired! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


202 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


At last, thou little thatch of straw 
Beneath whose eaves no lurking Care 

hath stayed, 

Where none within a comrade’s glances saw 
The gleam of Envy e’er displayed— 
Nor voice was perjured, not a plot 

betrayed! 


Fair upland, sloping to the skies 
With peace beyond the thought of earth 
endowed— 
Beyond where in death’s grapple vies 
The creature of the fevered crowd 
With thirst of dissolution and the 
shroud !— 


Receive me, mountain, oh receive 
Within thy fastness! For I come pur- 
sued 
By slander!—yea, unfinished leave 
The tasks that bring ingratitude, 
The peace that mocks, and earth’s 
unhappy brood!— 


Where one, who late at haven-bar 
Hath lain to anchor calm, is now the prey 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRAY LUIS DE LEON 


Of winds that buffet him afar 
And waves that gulf him in their spray 
And rack his hapless timbers with dismay! 


Another meets the lurking rock 
And instant down the yawning waters 
goes 
Calamitous unto the shock! 
For one, becalmed, no life-breath blows; 
On Syrtean shoals the squall another 
throws; 


Whilst others are despairing prey 
To sudden midnight and the dread 
typhoon, 
And to the hungry Neptune pay 
Their lives in tribute mid the swoon; 
Some, bold to swim, are down the ocean 
strewn! 


Strive or surrender to the flood, 
What end must ultimate be his, who 
rides, 
Death-gripping through the foaming scud, 
Some broken spar his wreck provides 
Adown such vast abysm of roaring tides? 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


204 


IV 


HISPANIC ANGHOLPOGy: 


Alas!—how often and how often thou, 
Unfailing haven, hast been my desire! 
Then of thy refuge fail not now— 
Fail not when I would so require 
’Mid such asea of troubles blind and dire! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


WRITTEN ON THE WALLS OF HIS 
DUNGEON 


Lo, where envy and where lies 
Held me in the prison cell; 
Blesséd was the lot that fell 

To the humble and the wise 

Far from earth’s chagrins to dwell; 

Who with thatch and homely fare 
Rests him in some sylvan spot, 

Lone with God abiding there, 

And none else his thought to share, 
Envying none, and envied not. 

—Thomas Walsh. 


THE VALLEY OF THE HEAVENS 


Resplendent precinct of the skies, 
Fair sward of gladness neither snow 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRAY LUIS DE LEON 205 


Nor parching breath of noonday tries, 
Domain whose sacred uplands show 
Its peace ungarnered deathlessly aglow! 


His brows in white and azure crowned 
Athwart its pastures softly wends, 
O flock endeared with thee around, 
The Holy Shepherd; thee He tends 
Unarmed with staff or sling where naught 
offends. 


He leads, and happy sheep o’erflow 
Around Him in a loving feud, 
Where the immortal roses blow 
And verdure ever is renewed 
Howe’er the flock may graze, in pleni- 
tude. 


And now upon the mountain ways 
Of Bliss He guides; now by the stream 
To bathe them in His grace He strays; 
Now grants them banqueting agleam— 
Himself the Giver and the Gift Supreme. 


And when the eye of noon attains 
The zenith of its fiery powers, 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


206 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


IV 


Amid His fondlings He remains 
To drowse away the torrid hours 
And cheer with voice serene the holy 
bowers. 


He wakes the viol’s melting tone 
And sweetness trembles through the soul 
Unto such golden joy unknown; 
Enraptured then beyond control 
It casts itself on Him, its only goal. 


O Breath! O Voice!—mightst Thou ordain 
Some little echo for my breast 
That—self-surrendering in that strain 
To Thee—of Thee ’twould be possest, 
O Love, and on Thy shoulder find its 
rest! 


Where Thou dost linger at the noon, 
Sweet Spouse, Oh, would my spirit 
knew !— 
And breaking from this prison swoon, 
Of Thy far flocks might come in view 
And stray no more, save paths Thou 
leadst them through. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRAY LUIS DE LEON 


THE PROPHECY OF TAGUS 


In dalliance Roderic the King 

Delayed with fair La Cava by the side 
Of Tagus’ gorge, till clamoring 
The river-god from out the tide 
Emerged, and in a voice prophetic cried :— | 


“ Licentious despot,—would you choose 
Such hour for weakness! Now when 
thunders sound 
And trumpetings of death confuse!— 
When clash and shout of Mars astound 
Our land, and conflagrations spread 
around! 


** Alas, for thy mere pleasure, how 
Our country groans! That lovely one 
. (Oday 
Unhallowed of her birth!) doth now 
On Spain bring weeping and dismay, 
To sweep the sceptre of the Goths away! 


“‘Plames, supplications, shouts of war, 
Laments of death and anguish and dis- 


grace,— a 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


208 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


That brief embrace is twining for!— 
Involving you and all the race 
In shame the ages never shall efface! 


“A yoke of slavery on the lands, 
They till at Constantina, where the 
stream 
Of Ebro, where Sansuefia’s strands 
And Lusitania’s reach extreme— 
On all the spacious Spains,—a doom 
supreme! 


“Hark, out of Cadiz raging calls 
Count Julian’s voice to speak a father’s 
wrongs! 
No shame of treachery appals— 
He conjures up avenging throngs 
To waste the kingdom that to you be- 
longs! 


“‘Adown the morn the trumpet’s throat 
Proclaims the doom! See, on Morocco’s 
shore 
What thronging, when his banners float 
Upon the winds conspired to pour 
| So swift on Spain the Moslem con- 
| queror! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRAY LUIS DE LEON 


“The cruel Arab lifts his lance 
And shakes his gleaming challenge to 
the wind; 
Swiftly his light flotillas dance 
Upon their way of warfare blind— 
See all their numbers swarming on my 
mind !— 


“The trembling earth is hidden where they 
tread ; 
Their sails blot out the intervening sea; 
Their clamors strike the heaven with 
dread; 
The sun from out the noon would flee 
Before the dust cloud and obscurity! 


“Alas, how ardently their prows 
Surmount the waves! What sinews 
bend the oar 
As every galley onward plows 
And how the deeps must foam and roar, 
When they glide hissing on the Spanish 
shore! 


“To Eolus their sails are given 
And over Hercules’s unguarded straits 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


210 HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Their sharpened prows of steel are driven 
Where Neptune, the great father, waits 
To grant them ingress by his open gates. 


“‘ Alas!—poor wretch, that bosom dear 
Can still bewitch you?—that you draw 
no sword, 
When such calamities you hear-— 
When even upon the sacred ford 
Tarifa falls already to the horde! 


‘Out in the saddle! Spread your wing 
Across the mountains! Spare not on the 
plain 
Your bloody spurs! There brandishing 
The goad, come thundering amain 
Upon them, Roderic, with blade in- 
sane! 


“But oh! what travail now prepares,— 
What years of sweat and carnage are 
ordained 
On him who shield and breastplate bears, 
On princeling who might else have 
reigned ,— 
On horse and rider to destruction chained! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


————_— “= 
’ 


FRAY LUIS DE LEON 


“Thou Stream of Betis,—shalt be dyed 
With mingling blood of kinsmen and of 
foes! 
Unto the sea how soon thy tide 
With broken wrack of helmets flows, 
And surge of corpses kingly in their 
woes !— 


“Five days of blood infuriate 
The God of war unloosens on the plains, 
Where meet the swarming hordes of hate; 
The sixth, alas, thy doom ordains!— 
O land belovéd,—in barbaric chains!’’ 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


BALTASAR DE ALCAZAR 
(1530-1606) 


THE JOLLY SUPPER 


BALTASAR DE ALCAZAR was a native of Seville, 
who saw service with the Marqués de Santa 
Cruz and later became steward of the Conde 
de Gelves. See his poems in the edition of 
|F. Rodriguez Marin (Madrid, 1910). 


In Jaén where I’m abiding 

Don Lope de Sosa dwells, 

And my story, Ines, tells 

Wonders past your mind’s providing. 
On this gentleman attended 

A young squire from Portugal— 
But to supper let us fall 

So my hunger may be ended. 

For the table is awaiting 

Where together we may sup; 

Forth are set the steaming cup 

And the glass,—no more debating,— 


HISPANIC NOEs 


From *‘Pacheco’s Album” 


Baltasar del Alcazar 


BALTASAR DE ALCAZAR 


Cut the bread, ah, what a savor!— 
This hors d’euvre is Paradise! 

From the salpicén arise 

Odors of a heavenly flavor. 

Pour the wine into the glasses 

And invoke a blessing now; 

Every time I drink I vow 

And bless’each ruby drop that passes. 
That was sure a healthy portion, 
Ines, pass the bottle here; 

Every mouthful would appear 
Worth a florin,—no extortion. 

In what tavern do you buy it? 
From the place by the ravine; 

Ten and six a measure, clean, 

Fresh and good and cheap to try it. 
By the Lord, it is a treasure 

That Alcocer tavern wine; 
Certainly, I think it’s fine 

To have at hand so just a measure. 
Whether old or new invention, 

On my faith, I do not know, 

But this I see that here below 

The tavern came with good intention. 
For ’tis there I go a-thirsting, 
Order up the newest brew, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


216 HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Mixing it they serve to you, 

You pay and drink yourself to bursting. 
This, my Ines, is its merit,— 

There’s no need to sing its praise— 

The one objection that I raise, 
The fleeting joy that we inherit. 
Now, the lighter dishes over, 
Tell me what is coming now? 
The meat-pie!—O blesséd brow, 
Worthy of such noble cover! 
What a dish it is, how hollow!— 
What meat and luscious fat it holds!— 
_|It seems, Ines, that it unfolds 

Its depths for you and me to swallow. 
But onward, onward, without question, 
For straight and narrow is the road; 
No more water,—let the load 

Of wine, Ines, invite digestion. 

Pour out the three-year vintage freely, 
*Twill aid your stomach in its work. 
How good to see you do not shirk 

But take a grown man’s portion, really! 
Now tell me, is it not delightful 

To have a dish so fine and rare, 

With all its biting flavors there, 

And all its spices fresh and spiteful? 


- 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


BALTASAR DE ALCAZAR 


Pine-nuts in its luscious dressing 

Make the brave dame’s meat-pie sweet; 
And roasted by her there’s a treat 

In suckling pig that is a blessing. 

As true as heaven ’tis fit to honor 

The very table of the King; 

A pork, Ines,—the sweetest thing 

With her delicious tripe upon her! 

My very heart is filled with rapture; 

I don’t know how it is with you, 

But taking now and then a view, 

You seem contentment here to capture. 
Great heavens! I am full of liquor; 
But I would make a sage remark; 

You brought one lamp to light the dark, 
Now two before me seem to flicker. 
But these are really drunken notions; 

I know of course it had to be, 

That with this heavy drink I’d see 

The lights increasing with the potions. 
Now let us try the tankard’s juices, 
Celestial beverage refined, 

Superior to what we bind 

In casks, it livelier joy produces. 


What smoothness and what glassy clear- 


ness! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


217 


IV 


218 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


What taste and odor rarified! 
What touch! What color there beside 
And all that makes for luscious dearness! 
But now there come the cheese and berry 
To take their place upon the board; 

And both it seems would claim award 

Of cup and tankard passing merry. 

Try the cheese,—the choice from many,— 
Quite as good as Pinto’s best; 

And the olives—for the rest 

They can hold their own with any. 

Now then, Ines, if you’re able 

Take six mouthfuls from the flask— 
There is nothing more to ask; 

Clear the covers from the table. 

And as we have supped and rested 

To our very hearts’ content 

It would seem the moment meant 

For the story I suggested. 

’Tis a tale, Ines, to win you— 

For the Portuguese fell ill— 

Eleven striking?—Wait until 
To-morrow, I’ll the tale continue— 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


From a printin the Hispanic Society of America 


Alonso de Ercilla y Zuniga 


ALONSO DE ERCILLA 


ALONSO DE ERCILLA Y ZUNIGA 
(1533-1594) 


FROM THE ARAUCANA 


ALONSO DE ERCILLA Y ZUNIGA was born at 
Madrid, where he died after a life of soldier- 
ing and adventuring in South America. He 
spent some years in Chile with the Gover- 
nor, Jerénymo de Alderete. In 1562 he re- 
turned to Spain, and in 1569 he published the 
first part of his Araucana, a fine heroic poem, 
much of it written amid the scenes and 
battles it describes. 


Caciques! defenders of our country, hear! 
It is not envy wounds my tortured sight, 
When I observe these struggles, who shall 


wear 
Ambition’s badge,—which had been mine 
of right; 
For see my brow in aged wrinkles dight, 
And the tomb tells me I must soon be there; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


HISPANIC’ ANTHOTOGY: 


*Tis love inspires me!—patriotism! zeal!— 
Listen! my soul its counsels shall unveil! 
y 


To what vain honors, chiefs, aspire ye now? 
And where the bulwarks of this towering 
pride? 
Ye have been vanquished,—trod on, by 
the foe; 
Defeat is echoed round on every side. 
What! are your conquerors thus to be 
defied, 
That stand around with laurels on their 
brow! 
Check this mad fury! wait the coming fray! 
Then shall it crush the foe in glory’s day. 


What a wild rage is this that bears you 
on, 
Blindly to sure perdition,—to despair! 
These murderous, fratricidal swords throw 
down, : 
Or point them at the tyrant! He is here! 
The Christian felons, noble chiefs! are 
near. 
Spill their base blood! but spare, O spare 
your own! 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ALONSO DE ERCILLA 


Die if you will,—like men, like patriots 
die; 
But dread a death of shame, of infamy! 


Madden your weapons with the enthusiast 


soul! 
O let them probe the invader’s inmost! 
breast; 
He who would chain you to his proud! 
control,— 
To slavery, insult!—O ’twere wise, 
*twere best 
To stay his fettering hand, nor tamely 
rest 
While strength and valor on your efforts| 
call! 


Your blood, chiefs, is your country’s!— 
guard it then 
For her!—It is not yours, heroic men! 


It grieves me not to see a warlike rage,— 
I hail the rapturous fury of the brave! 
But never let its violence engage 
In struggles leading on to freedom’s 
grave; 
Such madness loses what it seeks to save; 


MONOGRAPHS 


AND 


HISPANIC ANT er eGyr- 


IV 


Discord’s deep wounds, not valor can 
assuage. 

I cannot bear it, chiefs!—if it must be, 

Come wreak your waking violence on me. 


Let me fall first; for I am sick of life, 
And wearied with misfortune;—let me 
die! 
Devote my bosom to the horrid knife, 
Since these sad thoughts end not my 
misery! 
Happy the dying babe!—O why was I 
Thus made the victim of this vain world’s 
strife? 
Yet will I raise my voice, though weak and 
rude,— 
The tears of age may touch the brave and 
good. 


In strength and valor ye all equal are; 
To each a noble heritage was given! 
And power and wealth and bravery in war 
Were equaily conferred by bounteous 
heaven. 
In greatness,—strength of soul,—ye all 
are even, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ALONSO DE ERCILLA 


And each might rule the world, they blaze 
so far. . 

Now prove your worth by valiant hero- 
deeds; 

This is no time for words! your country 
bleeds! 


I trust your arms,—your hearts; nor aught 
suspect; D 
The future smiles; there is no thought 
of fear! 

Yet it were wise some chieftain to elect 
Whoall may govern and whom all revere. 
Let it be he who yon vast log can bear 

Longest upon his shoulder, firm, erect. 

Since wealth and fortune made ye equal all, 

Upon the strongest chief the lot shall fall! 

—John Bowring. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


226 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


FERNANDO DE HERRERA 
(1534-1594) 
IDEAL BEAUTY 


FERNANDO DE HERRERA was a native of Se- 
ville, where, on taking orders he was attached 
to the church of San Andrés. His love 
poems celebrate a famous Platonic love-affair 
with the Countess of Gelves the mother of 
the patron of Baltasar de AlcAzar. In 1580 
he published an annotation of the poems of 
Garcilasso de la Vega; in 1582 he published 
his poems, Algunas Obras; his Life of Sir 
Thomas More was published in 1592. See 
Fernando de Herrera el Divino, by M. A. 
Coster (Paris, 1908). 


O light serene! present in him who 


breathes 

That love divine, which kindles yet 
restrains 

The high-born soul—that in its mortal 
chains 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


From ‘‘Pacheco's Album” 


Fernando de Herrera 


FERNANDO DE HERRERA 


Heavenward aspires for love’s immortal 
wreaths! 
Rich golden locks, within whose clustered 
curls 
Celestial and eternal treasures lie! 
A voice that breathes angelic harmony 
Among bright coral and unspotted pearls! 


What marvelous beauty! Of the high 
estate 
Of immortality, within this light 
Transparent veil of flesh, a glimpse 
is given; 
And in the glorious form I contemplate 
(Although its brightness blinds my feeble 
sight) 
The immortal still I seek and follow 
on to Heaven! 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


THE DISEMBODIED SPIRIT 


Pure Spirit! that within a form of clay 
Once veiled the brightness of thy native 


sky; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


229 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


In dreamless slumber sealed thy burning 
eye, 
Nor heavenward sought to wing thy flight 
away! 
He that chastised thee did at length un- 
close 
Thy prison doors, and give thee sweet 
release 
Unloosed the mortal coil, eternal peace 
Received thee to its stillness and repose. 


Look down once more from thy celestial 
dwelling, 
Help me to rise and be immortal there— 
An earthly vapor melting into air;— 
For my whole soul with secret ardor 
swelling, 
From earth’s dark mansion struggles to 
be free, 
And longs to soar away and be at rest 
with thee. 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FERNANDO DE HERRERA 


THE LOVER’S COMPLAINT 


Bright Sun! that flaming through the 
midday sky 

Fillest with light heaven’s blue, deep- 

vaulted arch, 

Say, hast thou seen in thy celestial march 
One hue to rival this blue tranquil eye? 
Thou Summer Wind, of soft and delicate 

touch 

Fanning me gently with thy cool, fresh 

pinion, 

Say, hast thou found in all thy wide 

dominion, 
Tresses of gold that can delight so much? 


Moon, honor of the night! Thou glorious 
choir 
Of wandering Planets and eternal Stars! 
Say, have ye seen two peerless orbs 
like these? 
Answer me, Sun, Air, Moon, and Stars of 
fire— 
Hear ye my woes, that know no bounds 
nor bars? 
See ye these cruel stars, that brighten 
and yet freeze? —H. W. Longfellow. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


231 


232 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


BACHILLER FRANCISCO DE LA 
TORRE 


(1534-1594?) 


ODE 


BACHILLER FRANCISCO DELA TORRE, an elusive 
personality in Spanish poetry, is said to have 
been born at Torrelaguna, and to have 
received his education at Alcala de Henares. 
Disappointed in love, he enlisted for service 
in the army in Italy, and on his return to 
Spain found his “‘ Filis” the wife of an elderly 
man of wealth. His poems were first pub- 
lished by Quevedo in 1631, and a facsimile 
edition was published by the Hispanic Society 
of America (New York, 1903). 


Tirsis, O Tirsis, turn and seek again 

The safety of the port; behold what skies 
Descend about thy fragile little bark 
And warn thee not to go! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRANCISCO DE LA TORRE 


The frigid Boreas, the South Wind’s 
threats, 

Have stirred the seas to an appalling rage; 

Upon that troubled marge no sail can run 

Upon a happy course. 


Cry out, unhappy man!—the heavens 
receive 

And hush your bitter moans and shouts 
with roll 

Of thunders shaking o’er the brows 

Of their disturbéd face! 


Ah, do not tell me that thy ardent breast 
With passionate disorders so commands 
Such rash adventure on thee, but to break 
The calmness of thy youth! 


See, lad unhappy, how the South Wind’s 
rage 

Amid its whirling mocks the fickle wings 

In dust and blast of satire, and the head = 

Too premature and bold! 


See ye not how its fiercest breath is stirred 
From off the burning mountain, where below 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


233 


234 


HISPANIC ANTHGEGEY- 


Lie in their living death the boastful twain, 
Encéladus and Typheus? 


Be warned upon thy fortunes, and repair 
Thy threatened ills; in time be wise 
Nor let mishaps encroach too near, for all 
Their sudden charge. 


Why shouldst thou perish? ah, return, 
Tirsis, return! On land, yea, on the land 
Let thy ship be the prison and the cave 
Of the infuriate winds! 


Afar, the vengeance of the sea, afar, - 
The raging ordnance of fierce Eolus 
Upon the heads of hardy mariners 
Who dare to brave his powers. 


From off the shore let us behold the storm 
And watch the angry heavens, where they 
least 
Are furious against the heads that least 
Oppose their vaunted strength. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRANCISCO DE FIGUEROA 


FRANCISCO DE FIGUEROA 
(15362-1620?) 


SONNET 


FRANCISCO DE FIGUEROA was a native of 
Alcal4 de Henares, returning there after 
years of service in the army in Italy. He 
wrote both in Italian and Spanish and was the 
first to establish blank verse in Castilian. 
His poems (incomplete) were first published 
at Lisbonin 1625. A facsimile of the edition 
of 1626 was published by the Hispanic Society 
of America (New York, 1903). 


Land where the sun forever hides his 
face 
And moon ne’er whitens on thy gloomy 
brows; 
Where Nature, avarous step-dame, scarce 
allows 
A scant provision for the human race; 
Oh, what a destiny! were I to trace 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


235 


IV 


236 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


(Since I have wandered from my natal 
boughs) 

And end in lone and melancholy drowse 

My days of life amid thy snowbound place! 


Where never would an amorous shepherd 
turn 
With rose and violet garlands for my 
tomb 
And ’mid his sighs memorial declare :— 
‘““Thy hapless ending doth thy Filis learn, 
O Tirsis, and two tears she sheds in 
gloom 
More precious than all Niobe’s weep- 
ing rare.” 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MIGUEL DE CERVANTES 


MIGUEL DECERVANTES SAAVEDRA 
(1547-1616) 


SONNET ON GOLETTA 


MIGUEL DE CERVANTES SAAVEDRA, the immor- 
tal author of Don Quixote and The Exemplary 
Novels, was born at Alcala de Henares, served 
in the army and lost his left hand at the battle 
of Lepanto. He was captured by Moorish 
pirates and spent five years in captivity in 
Algiers. He was ransomed and returned to 
face failure and poverty for the rest of his 
life. He died at Madrid. His verse is 
pleasing, but not distinguished when com- 
pared to his work in prose. 


|Blest souls discharged of life’s oppres- 
sive weight, 
Whose virtue proved your passport to 
the skies, 
You there procured a more propitious fate 
When for your faith you bravely fell torise. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


238 


HISPANIC ANDROL OUGY- 


When pious rage diffused through every 
vein, 
On this ungrateful shore you shed your 
blood; 
Each drop you lost was bought with 
crowds of slain, 
Whose vital purple swelled the neighbor- 
ing flood. 


Though crushed by ruins and by odds, you 
claim 
That perfect glory, that immortal fame, 
Which like true heroes nobly you pursued; 
On these you seized, even when of life 
deprived, 
For still your courage, even your lives 
survived; 
And sure ’tis conquest, thus to be 
subdued. —P. Motteux. 


SONNET 


When I was marked for suffering, Love 
forswore 

All knowledge of my doom; or else at ease 

Love grows a cruel tyrant, hard to please; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MIGUEL DE CERVANTES 


Or else a chastisement exceeding sore 
A little sin hath brought me. Hush! No 
more! 
Love isa god! All things he knows and 
sees, 
And gods are bland and mild! Who then 
decrees 
The dreadful woe I bear and yet adore? 


If I should say, O Chloe, that ’twas thou, 
I should speak falsely since, being wholly 
good 
Like Heaven itself, from thee no ill can 
come. 
There is no hope; I must die shortly now, 
Not knowing why, since, sure, no witch 
hath brewed 
The drug that might avert my martyr- 


‘sntcal —Edmund Gosse. 


CANCION 


What makes me languish and complain?— 
Oh, ’tis disdain! 

What yet more fiercely tortures me?—| 
Tis jealousy. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


240 


HIS PAN?SC ANTEC 


How have I patience lost?-—By absence 
crossed. 

Then hopes farewell, there’s no relief; 

I sink beneath oppressing grief; 

Nor can a wretch, without despair, 

Scorn, jealousy, and absence bear. 


What in my breast, this anguish drove?— 
Intruding love. 

What could such mighty ills create?p— 
Blind fortune’s hate. 

What cruel powers my fate approve?— 
The powers above. 

Then let me bear and cease to moan; 

’Tis glorious thus to be undone; 

When these invade, who dares oppose? 

Heaven, love, and fortune are my foes. 


Where shall I find a speedy curePp—Death 
is sure. 
No milder means to set me free?—Incon- 


stancy. 
Can nothing else my pains assuage?— 
Distracting age. 
What! die or change?—Lucinda lose?— 
Oh, let me rather madness choose! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MIGUEL DE CERVANTES| 241 


But judge, ye gods, what we endure 
When death or madness is the‘cure! 
. —P. Motteux. 


SONNET ON FRIENDSHIP 


O sacred friendship, Heaven’s delight, 

| Which, tired with man’s unequal mind, 

Took to thy native skies thy flight, 
While scarce thy shadow’s left behind! 

From thee, diffusive good below, 

| Peace and her train of joys we trace; 

But falsehood, with dissembled show, 
Too oft usurps thy sacred face. 


Blessed genius, then resume thy seat! 
Destroy imposture and deceit, 

Which in thy dress confound the ball! 
Harmonious peace and truth renew, 
Show the false friendship from the true, 

Or nature must to Chaos fall. 

—P. Motieux. 


FROM “THE JOURNEY AROUND 
PARNASSUS” 


Poets are made of clay of dainty worth, 
Sweet, ductile, and of delicacy prime, 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


| 242 | HISPANIC ANGER ey: 


And fond of lingering at a neighbor’s 
hearth; 

For e’en the wisest poet of his time 

Is ruled by fond desires and delicate, 

Of fancies full and ignorance sublime; 

Wrapped in his whimsies, with affection 
great 

For his own offspring, he is not designed 

To reach a wealthy, but an honored state. 

So let my patient readers henceforth 
mind— 

As saith the vulgar impolite and coarse— 

That I’m a poet of the self-same kind; 

With snowy hairs of swan, with voice of 
hoarse 

And jet-black crow, the rough bark of my 
wit 

To polish down Time vainly spends its force; 

Upon the top of Fortune’s wheel to sit, 

For one short moment hath not been my 
fate, 

For when I’d mount, it fails to turn a whit; 

But yet to learn if one high thought and 
great 

Might not some happier occasion seize, 

I travelled on with slow and tardy gait, 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


MIGUEL DE CERVANTES 


A wheaten loaf, with eight small scraps of 
cheese, 

Was all the stock my wallet did contain, 

Good for the road, and carried with great 


ease. 

“Farewell,” quoth I, “‘my humble home 
and plain! 

Farewell, Madrid, thy Prado, and thy 
springs 


Distilling nectar and ambrosial rain! 
Farewell, ye gay assemblies, pleasant 
things 
To cheer one aching bosom, and delight 
Two thousand faint, aspiring underlings! 
Farewell, thou charming and deceitful site, 
Where erst two giants great were set ablaze 
By thunderbolt of Jove, in fiery might! 
Farewell, ye public theatres, whose praise 
Rests on the ignorance I see becrown 
The countless follies of unnumbered plays!”’ 
—James Y oung Gibson. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


243 


244 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


IV 


SAINT JOHN OF THE CROSS 
(1549-1591) 


THE OBSCURE NIGHT OF THE SOUL 


SAINT JOHN OF THE Cross was born Juan de 
Yepes y Alvarez, at Ontiveros. He joined the 
Carmelite Order in 1563, and soon became an 
energetic reformer of monastic life, gaining 
renown as a mystic and saintly character. 
He became known as the “‘Ecstatie Doctor”’ 
through the inspired nature of his prose 
writings. His poems are few, but among 
the greatest productions in all literature. 
See the Bzblioteca de autores espamioles (vol. 
xXvii). He was canonized in 1726. 


Upon an obscure night 

Fevered with love in love’s anxiety 

(O hapless-happy plight!), 

I went, none seeing me, 

Forth from my house where all things quiet 
be. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


St. John of the Cross 


SAINT JOHN OF THE CROSS 


By night, secure from sight, 

And by the secret stair, disguisedly, 

(O hapless-happy plight!) 

By night, and privily, 

Forth from my house where all things 
quiet be. 


Blest night of wandering, 

In secret, where by none might I be spied, 

Nor I see anything; 

Without a light or guide, 

Save that which in my heart burnt in my 
side 


That light did lead me on, 

|More surely than the shining of noontide, 
Where well I knew that one 

Did for my coming bide; 

Where He abode, might none but He abide. 


O night that didst lead thus, 

O night more lovely than the dawn of 
light, 

O night that broughtest us, 

Lover to lover’s sight, 

Lover with loved in marriage of delight! 


Has PANIC NOTES 


247 


248 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Upon my flowery breast 

Wholly for Him, and save Himself for none, 
There did I give sweet rest 

To my belovéd one; : 

The fanning of the cedars breathed thereon. 


When the first moving air 

Blew from the tower and waved His locks 
aside, 

His hand, with gentle care, 

Did wound me in the side, 

And in my body all my senses died. 


All things I then forgot, 

My cheek on Him who for my coming came; 

All ceased, and I was not, 

Leaving my cares and shame 

Among the lilies, and forgetting them. 
—Arthur Symons. 


O FLAME OF LIVING LOVE 


O flame of living love, 

That dost eternally 

Pierce through my soul with so consuming 
heat, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


SAINT JOHN OF THE CROSS 


Since there’s no help above, 
Make thou an end of me, 
And break the bond of this encounter sweet. 


O burn that burns to heal! 

O more than pleasant wound! 

And O soft hand, O touch most delicate, 

That dost new life reveal, 

That dost in grace abound, 

And, slaying, dost from death to life 
translate! 


O lamps of fire that shined 

With so intense a light 

Thatthose deep caverns where thesenseslive, 
Which were obscure and blind, 

Now with strange glories bright, 

Both heat and light to His belovéd give! 


With how benign intent 

Rememberest thou my breast, 

Where thou alone abidest secretly; 

And in thy sweet ascent, 

With glory and good possessed, 

How delicately thou teachest love to me! 
—Arthur Symons. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


FRANCISCO DE, ALDANA 
(15 50-1578) 


THE IMAGE OF GOD 


FRANCISCO DE ALDANA, was a soldier-poet 
born at Tortosa. He perished in the African 
disaster that overtook the Portuguese King, 
Dom Sebastian, in 1578. The body of his 
writings has been lost, although he was much 
esteemed as an author of mystical poetry, 
some of which has survived. 


O Lord! who seest from yon starry height, 
Centered in one the future and the past, 
Fashioned in thine own image, seehow fast 

The world obscures in me what once was 

bright! 

Eternal Sun! the warmth which thou hast 

given 
To cheer life’s flowery April, fast decays; 
Yet, in the hoary winter of my days, _ 
Forever green shall be my trust in heaven. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRANCISCO DE ALDANA 


Celestial King! oh let thy presence pass 
Before my spirit, and an image fair 
Shall meet that look of mercy from on 
high, 
As the reflected image in a glass 
Doth meet the look of him who seeks it 
there, 
And owes its being to the gazer’s eye. 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


MY NATIVE LAND 


Clear fount of light! my native land on 
high 
Bright with a glory that shall never fade! 
Mansion of truth! without a veil or shade, | 
Thy holy quiet meets the spirit’s eye. 
There dwells the soul in its ethereal essence, 
Gasping no longer for life’s feeble breath, 
But sentinelled in heaven, its glorious 
presence 
With pitying eye beholds, yet fears not,| 
death. 


Beloved country! banished from thy shore 
A stranger in this prison-house of clay, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


252 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for 
thee! 
Heavenward the bright perfections I adore 
Direct, and the sure promise cheers the 
way, 
That, whither love aspires, there shall 
my dwelling be. 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


— >” 


 — — 


MATEO VAZQUEZ DE LECA 


MATEO VAZQUEZ DE LECA 
(About 1550) 


SONNET 


Mateo VAzQuUEZ DE LEcA may be assumed 
to have been a Sevillian, although no 
definite facts of his life or dates are to be 
found. He was secretary to Philip II, and 
left several works on genealogical and moral 
questions. 


You were a foolish, though an amorous 
fellow, 
Leander—had you for a boat but waited 
Death and the devil might have both 
been cheated 
And history have been spared the pains to 
tell how 
A silly youth was drowned!—You might 
have gone 
Dry-footed to your mistress, and have 
kissed her 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


In nuptial joy,—but no!—for driven on 
By an impatient passion’s gust, you 
missed her 


4 : 
And died.—A pity that!—In this our 
Seville 
You’ve not a notion how we cheat the devil; 
And run no risk of colds nor disappoint- 


ments; 
True, love may graze us,—but the drowning 
plan 
Is a mistake, which neither oil nor 
ointments, 


Nor wit, nor wisdom, can get over, man. 
—John Bowring. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRANCISCO DE MEDRANO 


FRANCISCO DE MEDRANO 
(Sixteenth Century) 


ART AND NATURE 


FRANCISCO DE MEDRANO was a native of 
Seville during the sixteenth century. Prac- 
tically nothing is known as to the date of his 
birth or death or the events of his life. He 
is known to have visited Italy. His works, 
first printed in Palermo in 1617, are to be 
found in the Biblioteca de autores espafioles 
(vols. 35 and 42). 


The works of human artifice soon tire 
The curious eye; the fountain’s sparkling 
rill 
And gardens, when adorned by human 
skill, 
Reproach the feeble hand, the vain desire. 
But oh, the free and wild magnificence 
Of Nature in her lavish hours doth steal, 
Tn admiration silent and intense, 
The soul of him who hath a soul to feel. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


255 


IV 


236 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


The river moving on its ceaseless way, 
The verdant reach of meadows fair and 
green, 
And the blue hills that bound the sylvan 
scene, 
These speak of grandeur, that defies 
decay ,— 
Proclaims the Eternal Architect on 
high, 
Who stamps on all his works his own 
eternity. 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


THE TWO HARVESTS 


But yesterday these few and hoary sheaves 
Waved in the golden harvest; from the 
plain 
I saw the blade shoot upward, and the 
grain 
Put forth the unripe ear and tender leaves. 
Then the glad upland smiled upon the view, 
And to the air the broad green leaves 
unrolled, 
A peerless emerald in each silken fold, 
And on each palm a pearl of morning dew. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRANCISCO DE MEDRANO | 257 


And thus sprang up and ripened in brief 
space 
All that beneath the reaper’s sickle died, |- 
All that smiled beauteous in the summer- 
tide. 
And what are we? a copy of that race, 
The later harvest of a longer year! 
And oh! how many fall before the ripened 
ear! 
—H.W. Longfellow. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


258 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


VICENTE ESPINEL 
(1551-1624) 


LETRILLA 


VICENTE EsPINEL was born at Ronda. After 
being sold into captivity by Moorish pi- 
rates he joined the Spanish army in Italy. 
Later, he returned to Spain, took orders, and 
obtained a post at the hospital at Ronda, 
where his irregular conduct led to his disgrace. 
He was a famous musician of the school of 
Salamanca and added the fifth string to the 
guitar, to the disapproval of Lope de Vega. 
His death occurred at Madrid. He is most 
famed as the author of the Relaciones de la 
Vida del Escudero Marcos de Obregon (1618), 
after which Le Sage copied his more famous 
Gil Blas. Espinel’s Diversas Rimas were 
published in 1591. 


A thousand, thousand times I seek 
My lovely maid; 
But I am silent, still, afraid 


HISPANIC NOTES 


VICENTE ESPINEL 


That if I speak 
The maid might frown, and then my heart 
would break. 


I’ve oft resolved to tell her all, 

But dare not—what a woe ’twould be 

From doubtful favor’s smiles to fall 

To the harsh frown of certainty. 

Her grace—her music cheers me now; 

The dimpled roses on her cheek, 

But fear restrains my tongue, for how, 

How should I speak, 

When, if she frowned, my troubled heart 
would break? 


No! rather I’ll conceal my story 
In my full heart’s most secret cell; 
For though I feel a doubtful glory 
'I ’scape the certainty of hell. 
I lose, ’tis true, the bliss of heaven— 
I own my courage is but weak; 
That weakness may be well forgiven, 
For should she speak 
In words ungentle, O my heart would 
break. 
—John Bowring. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


260 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


FAINT HEART NEVER WON FAIR 
LADY 


He who is both brave and bold 
Wins the lady that he would; 

But the courageless and cold 
Never did and never could. 


Modesty in women’s game 
Is a wide and shielding veil; 
They are tutored to conceal 
Passion’s fiercely burning flame. 
He who serves them brave and bold, 
He alone is understood; 
But the courageless and cold 
Ne’er could win and never should. 


If you love a lady bright, 
Seek, and you shall find a way; 
All that love would say—to say, 
If you watch the occasion right, 
Cupid’s ranks are brave and bold, 
Every soldier firm and good; 
But the courageless and cold 
Ne’er have conquered—never could. 
—John Bowring. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


—— sl hm 


ANONYMOUS 261 


ANONYMOUS 
(Sixteenth or Seventeenth Century) 


TO CHRIST CRUCIFIED 


Tuts famous sonnet, in spite of the seve) 
tion of its authorship to Saint Teresa of 
Avila in the Biblioteca de autores espaiioles, 
is still declared to be anonymous. (M. R. 
Fouché-Delbosc, Revue Hispanique, 1895, vol. 
ii.) It has also been attributed, without suf- 
ficient reason, to Saint Ignatius de Loyola, 
Saint Francis Xavier, and Pedro de los Reyes, 
The Latin hymn ‘Deus ego te amo” is simi- 
lar to it in many ways. The latter hymn, 
the work of Saint Francis Xavier, has been 
beautifully rendered into English by Alexan- 
der Pope. The sonnet has also been transla- 
ted by Dryden in his ‘“‘O God, thou art the 
object of my love.” 


Tam not moved to love Thee, O my Lord, 
By any longing for Thy Promised Bees, | 
Nor by the fear of hell am I unmanned 

| 


AND MONOGRAPHS | IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


To cease from my transgressing deed or 
word. 
*Tis Thou Thyself dost move me,—Thy 
blood poured 
Upon the cross from nailéd foot and 
hand; 
And all the wounds that did Thy body 
brand; 
And all Thy shame and bitter death’s 
award. 


Yea, to Thy heart am I so deeply stirred 
That I would love Thee were no heaven 
on high,— 
That I would fear, were hell a tale absurd! 
Such my desire, all questioning grows vain; 
Though hope deny me hope I still should 
sigh, 
And as my love is now, it should remain. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


DE ARGENSOLA 


LUPERCIO LEONARDO DE 
ARGENSOLA 
(1559-1613) 


SONNET 


LuprERcIO LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA, together 
with his brother Bartolomé, is considered 
among the greater poets of the seventeenth 
century. He made some attempts at the 
drama, but it is not until the publication of 
Rimas in 1634 that we have a text to warrant 
their great reputation. The Argensolas were 
of Italian descent and followed the methods of 
the Italian poets, with a strong classical ten- 
dency which saved them from the abuses of 
Gongorism, then at its height. Lupercio be- 
came the Chronicler of Aragon and, following 
the Count de Lemos to Naples, died there. 


October scatters the torn vines around, 


And the great floods their ’customed 
bounds break o’er; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


264 


HISPANI@ ANTHOLOGY. 


Drowning the plains their shoreless 


waters pour, as 
Sweeping both bridge and bank in Spain’s 
whole bound. 


Moncayo, as of old, lifts up ie crowned 
High forehead of the snows; the sun no 
more 
Than scarce appears with day’s half- 
portioned store, 
When it is covered o’er with night profound. 


The angry breath of tempests is abroad 
Upon the seas and rorests. Mankind 
hastes 
Into his ports and cabins wisely awed; 
Whilst Fabio by the Tays lingering 
wastes 
His shamefaced tears, to mourn the sea- 
sons’ fraud,— 


The fruits that wither ere the lip half} 


tastes. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE DE VALDIVIELSO 265 


JOSE DE VALDIVIELSO 
(1560-1638) 


SEGUIDILLA 


José DE VALDIVIELSO was a native of Toledo, 
and the author of the excellent Autos Sacra- 
mentales, and Comedias Divinas. His Vida de 
San José is also noteworthy; but he is espec- 
ially esteemed for his devotional lyrics. There 
was an edition of his Romancero espiritual 
published at Madrid in 1880. 


I who once was free, 

Sold unto death you see; 

Trust not, Mother dear, 

Hearts ungrateful here ! 

With a honeyed smile, 

Mother, a false friend 

At the banquet’s end 

His hand within my dish the while, 
Like a lamb betrayed me vile. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


266 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Trust not, Mother dear, 

Hearts ungrateful here ! 

I placed him at my side 

And passed the dish to him; 

I shared and did provide 

The best unto the brim. 

His bargain rare and grim,— 

He sold Thy Son away, 

Trust not, Mother dear, 

Hearts ungrateful here ! 

The garden flowers were wet 

With the tears I shed thereon; 

’Twas Holy Thursday, yet 

With me had Judas gone; 

He gave unto Thy Son 

The kiss I’ll not forget— 

Trust not, Mother dear, 

Hearts ungrateful here ! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


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bis DE GONGORA 


267 


LUIS DE ARGOTE Y GONGORA 
(1561-1627) 


NOT ALL SWEET NIGHTINGALES 


LUIS DE ARGOTE y GONGOoRA was born of good 
family at Cérdoba; he was educated at the 
University of Salamanca and received a bene- 
fice in 1577. In 1613 he renroved to Madrid 
and became chaplain to the King. He re- 
turned to Cérdoba in ill health and died there. 
His reputation as a poet was already estab- 
lished in 1600 at the publication of the Roman- 
cero General. His earlier poems are free from 
affectations, but in his later style he adopted 
the affectations known as Marinism in Italy, 
Euphuism in England and Preciositéin France, 
in this way establishing in Spain the School of 
Gongorism which afflicted Spanish literature 
for many generations. His poems may be 
found in the Biblioteca de autores espajoles, 
vols. X, Xvi, XXiX, XXXii, and xxxv. 


They are not all sweet nightingales 
That fill with songs the flowery vales; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


IV 


268 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


But they are little silver bells, 

Touched by the winds in the smiling dells; 
Magic bells of gold in the grove, 

Forming a chorus for her I love. 


Think not the voices in the air 

Are from the wingéd Sirens fair, 
Playing among the dewy trees 
Chanting their morning mysteries; 
Oh! if you listen, delighted there, 

To their music scattered o’er the dales, 
They are not all sweet nightingales, etc. 


Oh! ’twas a lovely song—of art 

To charm—of nature to touch the heart; 

Sure ’twas some shepherd’s pipe, which 
played 

By passion fills the forest shade; 

No! ’tis music’s diviner part 

Which o’er the yielding spirit prevails, 

They are not all sweet nightingales, etc. 


In the eye of love, which all things sees, 

The fragrance-breathing jasmine trees— 

And the golden flowers—and the sloping 
hill— 

And the ever melancholy rill— 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LUIS DE GONGORA | 269 


Are full of holiest sympathies, 
And tell of love a thousand tales. 
They are not all sweei nightingales, 
That fill with songs the cheerful vales; 
But they are little silver bells, 
Touched by the wind in the smiling dells, 
Bells of gold in the secret grove, 
Making music for her I love. 
—Jchn Bowring. 


ROMANCE 


The loveliest girl in all our country-side, | 

To-day forsaken, yesterday a bride, 

Seeing her love ride forth to join the wars, 

With breaking heart and trembling lips 
implores: 

“My hope is dead, my tears are blinding me, | 


Oh let me walk alone where breaks the sea! | 


| 
“You told me, Mother, what toowell I know, | 
How grief is long, and joy is quick to go, 
But you have given him my heart that he i 
Might hold it captive with love’s bitter 
key,— | 


My hope is dead, my tears are blinding me.| 


AND MONOGRAPHS | Iv 


HISPANIC) AMO OGY: 


‘““My eyes are dim, that once were full of 
grace, 

And ever bright with gazing on his face, 

But now the tears come hot and never cease, 

Since he is gone in whom my heart found 
peace, 

My hope is dead, my tears are blinding me. 


“Then do not seek to stay my grief, nor yet 

To blame a sin my heart must needs forget; 

For though blame were spoken in good 
part, 

Yet speak it not, lest you should break my 
heart. 

My hope is dead, my tears are blinding me. 


“Sweet Mother mine, who would not weep 
to see 

The glad years of my youth so quickly flee, 

Although his heart were flint, his breast a 
stone? 

Yet here I stand, forsaken and alone, 

My hope is dead, my tears are blinding me. 


‘And still may night avoid my lonely bed, 
Now that my eyes are dull, my soul is dead. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES | 


LUIS DE GONGORA 


Since he is gone for whom they vigil keep, 
Too long is night, I have no heart for sleep. 
My hope is dead, my tears are blinding me, 
Oh let me walk alone where breaks the sea!” 
—John Pierrepont Rice. 


LET ME GO WARM 


Let me go warm and merry still; 
And let the world laugh, an’ it will. 


Let other muse on earthly things,— 
The fall of thrones, the fate of kings, 

And those whose fame the world doth fill; 
Whilst muffins sit enthroned in trays, 
And orange-punch in winter sways 
The merry sceptre of my days;— 

And let the world laugh, an’ it will. 


He that the royal purple wears, 

From golden plate a thousand cares ' 
Doth swallow as a gilded pill; | 

On feasts like these I turn my back, 

Whilst puddings in my roasting-jack 

Beside the chimney hiss and crack;— 
And let the world laugh, an’ it will. 


| AND MONOGRAPHS | 


271 


HISPANIC)/ANGRGLOGY: 


And when the wintry tempest blows, 
And January’s sleets and snows 
Are spread o’er every vale and hill, 
With one to tell a merry tale 
O’er roasted nuts and humming ale, 
I sit, and care not for the gale;— 
And let the world laugh, an’ it will. 


Let merchants traverse seas and lands 
For silver mines and golden sands; 
Whilst I beside some shadowy rill 
Just where its bubbling fountain swells 
Do sit and gather stones and shells, 
And hear the tale the blackbird tells;— 
And let the world laugh, an’ it will. 


For Hero’s sake the Grecian lover 
The stormy Hellespont swam over; 
I cross without the fear of ill 
The wooden bridge that slow bestrides 
The Madrigal’s enchanting sides, 
Or barefoot wade through Yepes’s tides ;— 
And let the world laugh, an’ it will. 


\ 

But since the Fates so cruel prove, 

That Pyramus should die of love, 
And love should gentle Thisbe kill; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LUIS DE GONGORA 


My Thisbe be an apple-tart, 
The sword I plunge into her heart 
The tooth that bites the crust apart,— 
And let the world laugh, an’ it will. 
—H.W. Longfellow. 


THE NATIVITY OF CHRIST 


Today from the Aurora’s bosom 

A pink has fallen—a crimson blossom; 
And oh, how glorious rests the hay 
On which the fallen blossom lay! 


When silence gently had unfurled 

Her mantle over all below, 

And crowned with winter’s frost and snow, 
Night swayed the sceptre of the world, 
Amid the gloom descending slow, 

Upon the monarch’s frozen bosom 

A pink has fallen,—a crimson blossom. 


The only flower the Virgin bore 
(Aurora fair) within her breast, 

She gave to earth, yet still possessed 
Her virgin blossom as before; 

That hay that colored drop caressed,— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


} 


} 


273 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Received upon its faithful bosom 
That single flower,—a crimson blossom. 


The manger, unto which ’twas given, 
Even amid wintry snows and cold, 

Within its fostering arms to fold 

The blushing flower that fell from heaven, 
Was as a canopy of gold,— 

A downy couch,—where on its bosom 
That flower had fallen,—that crimson blos- 


SOR —H. W. Longfellow. 


LETRILLA 


Riches will serve for titles, too, 
That's true—that’s true! 

And they love most who oftenest sigh, 
That’s a lie—that’s a lie ! 


That crowns give virtue—power gives wit, 
That follies well on proud ones sit; 

That poor men’s slips deserve a halter; 
While honors crown the great defaulter; 
That ’nointed kings no wrong can do, 

No right, such worms as I and you— 
That’s true—that’s true! ip 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES | 


LUIS DE GONGORA 


To say a dull and sleepy warden 

Can guard a many-portal’d garden; 
That woes which darken many a day 
One moment’s smile can charm away; 
To say you think that Celia’s eye 
Speaks aught but trick and treachery, 
That’s a lie—that’s a lie! 


That wisdom’s bought and virtue sold; 
And that you can provide with gold 
For court a garter or a star, 

And valor fit for peace or war; 

And purchase knowledge at the U- 
Niversity for P. or O0.— 

That's true—that’s true! 


They must be gagged who go to court, 
And bless, beside, the gagger for ’t; 

That rankless must be scourged, and thank 
The scourgers when they’re men of rank; 
The humble, poor man’s form and hue 
Deserve both shame and suffering too— 
That’s true—that’s truc! 


But wondrous favors to be done, 
And glorious prizes to be won; 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV | 


276 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


And downy pillows for our head, 

And thornless roses for our bed; 

From monarch’s words—you’ll trust and 
try, s 

And risk your honor on the die— 

That's a lie—that’s a lie ! 


That he who in the courts of law 
Defends his person or estate, 

Should have a privilege to draw 

Upon the mighty River Plate; 

And spite of all that he can do, 

He will be plucked and laughed at too— 
That's true, that’s true! 


To sow of pure and honest seeds, 
And gather nought but waste and weeds; 
And to pretend our care and toil 
Had well prepared the ungrateful soil; 
And then on righteous heaven to cry, 
As ’twere unjust—and ask it why?— 
That's a lie, that’s a lie! 

—John Bowring. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LUIS DE GONGORA 277 


“CLEAR HONOR OF THE LIQUID 
ELEMENT” 


Clear honor of the liquid element, 
Sweet rivulet of shining silver sheen! 
Whose waters steal along the meadows 
green, 
With gentle step and murmur of content! 
When she for whom I bear each fierce 
extreme, 
Beholds herself in thee,—then Love doth 
trace 
The snow and crimson of that lovely face 
In the soft gentle movement of thy stream. 


Then, smoothly flow as now, and set not 
free 
The crystal curb and undulating rain 
Which now thy current’s headlong speed 
restrain; 
Lest broken and confused the image rest 
Of such rare charms on the deep-heaving 
breast 
Of him who holds and sways the trident 
of the seas. 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


HISPANIC ANPHOLOGY: 


LOPE FELIX DE VEGA CARPIO 
(1562-1635) 
THE GOOD SHEPHERD 


Lore FELIX DE VEGA Carpio, one of the 
greatest figures in Spanish literature, the 
““monstruo”’ of the critics, was born at Madrid, 
and after an irregular youth took part in 
the Invincible Armada, returning to receive 
priestly orders, but, also, to continue his dis- 
solute courses. He is said to have written 
1800 dramas of various kinds, establishing the 
style for all future writers for the Spanish 
theatre. His lyric talents are of the highest 
order, and his fluency makes him one of the 
most remarkable figures in the literature of 
the world. His Obras sueltas in twenty-one 
volumes appeared at Madrid in 1776. Me- 
néndez y Pelayo died before completing the 
collection of his works which he was preparing 
for the Spanish Academy. 


Shepherd! who with thine amorous, sylvan 
song 


HISPANIC NOTES 


From a print in the Hispanic Soctety of America 


Lope Felis de Vega Carpio 


LOPE DE VEGA 281. | 
Hast broken the slumber that encom- 
passed me, 
Who mad’st Thy crook from the accursed 
tree 
On which Thy powerful arms were stretched 
so long! 
Lead me to mercy’s ever-flowing fountains; 
For Thou my shepherd, guard, and guide 
shalt be; 
I will obey Thy voice, and wait to see 
Thy feet all beautiful upon the mountains. 


Hear, Shepherd Thou who for Thy flock art 
dying, 
Oh, wash away these scarlet sins, for Thou 
Rejoicest at the contrite sinner’s vow. 
Oh, wait! to Thee my weary soul is crying, 
Wait for me: Yet why ask it, when I see, 
With feet nailed to the cross, Thou’rt) 
waiting still for me! 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


O NAVIS 


Poor bark of Life, upon the billows hoarse 
Assailed by storms of envy and deceit, 
Across what cruel seas in passage fleet 


HISPANIC NOTES 


-282 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


My pen and sword alone direct thy course! 
My pen is dull; my sword of little force; 
Thy side lies open to the wild waves’ beat 
As out from Favor’s harbors we retreat, 
Pursued by hopes deceived and vain 
remorse. 


Let heaven be star to guide thee! here below 
How vain the joys that foolish hearts 
desire! 
Here friendship dies and enmity keeps 
true; 
Here happy days have left thee long ago! 
But seek not port, brave thou the tem- 
pest’s ire; 
Until the end thy fated course pursue! 
—Roderick Gill. 


TOMORROW 


Lord, what am I, that with unceasing care 
Thou did’st seek after me, that Thou 
did’st wait 
Wet with unhealthy dews before my 
gate, 
And pass the gloomy nights of winter there? 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LOPE DE VEGA 283 


Oh, strange delusion, that I did not greet 
Thy blest approach, and oh, to heaven 
how lost 
If my ingratitude’s unkindly frost 
Has chilled the bleeding wounds upon Thy 
feet. 


How oft my guardian angel gently cried, 
“Soul, from thy casement look, and thou 
shalt see 
How He persists to knock and wait for 
thee!” 
And oh, how often to that Voice of 
sorrow, 
“Tomorrow we will open,” I replied, 
And when the morrow came I an- 
sweted still ““Tomorrow.” 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


284 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE 
ARGENSOLA 
(1564-1631) 


TO THE FATHER OF THE UNIVERSE 


BARTOLOME LEONARDO DE ARGENSOLA was the 
younger of the Argensola brothers of Aragon, 
who resisted the influence of Gongorism and 
who established their literary reputation in 
1634 with the publication of Rimas. 


Tell me, Thou common Father, tell me 


why, 
(Since Thou art just and good) dost 
Thou permit 
Successful fraud, securely throned, to 
sit 
While innocence, oppressed, stands weep- 
ing by? 
Why hast Thou nerved that strong arm to 
oppose 


Thy righteous mandates with impunity, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


From a print in the Hispanic Society of America 


Bartolomé Leonardo de Argensola 


BARTOLOME DE ARGENSOLA| 287 


While the meek man who served and 
reverenced Thee 
Lies at the feet of Thine and virtues’s toes? 


Why (said I, in despair) should vice con- 
found 
All nature’s harmony, and tower above 
In all the pomp, and pride, and power 
of state? 
Then I looked upwards— and I heard a' 
sound 
As from an angel, smiling through 
heaven’s gate, 
“Ts earth a spot for heaven-born souls to 
love?” 


—John Bowring. 


TO MARY MAGDALEN 


Blessed, yet sinful one, and _ broken- 
hearted! 

The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn, 

In wonder and in scorn! 

Thou weepest days of innocence departed; 

Thou weepest, and thy tears have power 
to move = 

The Lord to pity and love. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


288 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


The greatest of thy tollies is forgiven, 

Even for the least of all the tears that shine 

On that pale cheek of thine. 

Thou didst kneel down, to Him who came 
from heaven, 

Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise 

Holy and pure and wise. _ 


It is not much that to the fragrant blossom 

The ragged briar should change, thebitter fir 

Distil Arabian myrrh; 

Nor that, upon the wintry desert’s bosom, 

The harvest should rise plenteous, and the 
swain 

Bear home the abundant grain. 


But come and see the bleak and barren 
mountains 

Thick to their tops with roses; come and see 

Leaves on the dry dead tree. 

The perished plant, set out by living 
fountains, 

Grows fruitful, and its beauteous branches 
rise, 

Forever, to the skies. 

—William Cullen Bryant. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


i iil 


JUAN DE ARGUIJO 


289 


JUAN DE ARGUIJO 
(1567-1622) 


THE TEMPEST AND THE CALM 


JUAN DE ARGUIJO was a native of Seville 
where his abilities and character procured 
him a high position in the Sevillian school of 
letters. His sonnets are to be found in the 
edition of J. Colén y Colén (Seville, 1841). 


Sudden I saw the ruddy sun to turn 
In cloudy trouble and to disappear; 
Across’ his hidden face the lightning 
drear 
Upon the darkness then began to burn. 


‘|Full soon the furious south-wind came to 


churn 
In tury and tormenting far and near; 
And where the shoulders of great Atlas 
rear, 
Olympus shook beneath the thunder 
stern. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


290 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


But soon the heavy veil is swept away 
By rains, and clear again the morning 
shines 
With gladness full-renewed across the 
skies; 
Marking the freshened splendors of the 
day, 
I murmur—These perchance may be the 
signs 
| Wherein the image of my fortune lies. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


VENEGAS DE SAAVEDRA 


PEDRO VENEGAS DE SAAVEDRA 
(1576-1609) 


PASTORAL CHARMS 


PEDRO VENEGAS DE SAAVEDRA was born at 
Sanliicar la Mayor, of a noble family be- 
longing to Seville. He died at Granada 
in his thirty-third year. His Remedios de 
Amor was first published, together with the 
poems of Francisco de Medrano, in Palermo, 
1617. It is an original poem written around 
the general scheme of Ovid’s work of the 
same title. 


How happy he, his idle thoughts unreined, 
Whohere arrayed in calmness forth can go 
With song amid his peaceful oxen trained 
And join his wearied flocks returning 
slow, 
Dragging the plough as evening’s shadow 
falls 
And daylight all its broken host recalls. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


291 


29 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Who when the earliest light of Phoebus 
warns 
And earth awakes, is glad from out his bed 
Beneath the farm-house eaves, nor laboring 
scorns 
To trim his vines and train the nodding 
head 
Of elms upon the hillsides tall and slight 
Such as god Hymen takes for his delight. 


Or through the heavy furrows wins his way 
With ponderous team, and scatters the 
glad grain 
In token of the Golden Age and sway 
Of oldtime Bacchus and Silvanus’ reign; 
Till grateful gifts to Ceres here disclose, 
And on her sacred altars sheaves repose. 


Upon the earliest day the floods are free 
From icy bondage, there he lightly turns 
To seek his Filomena lovingly 


When the sun’s waning light no longer]: 


burns, 

And heifers bleat, and doves’ compelling 
song 

Is music to the ears attentive long. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


<< - 


VENEGAS DE SAAVEDRA 


— 


Fresh hives the busy husbandman prepares 
The bees are out and soon the honey 
flows; 
Whereon with covered face and arms he 
dares 
*Mid smoke and fire invade their treasure 
close, 
And robs their gatherings of sunny hours, 
As they themselves have robbed the 
fragrant flowers. 


Within their rangéd pastures graze the cows 
And flocks upon the sloping hills afar; 
Then in their yards, and folds, and cattle- 

house 
To their accustomed stalls they gathered 
are; 
And from their fragrant floods of milk arise 
The nectar and the cheeses that we prize. 


The air that never blasphemy profanes 
Nor falsehood, blows an ample breath 
around; 
The fields induce repose for all our pains, 
And silence weaves its woof of balm 
profound, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


294 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Here where Astrea in her heavenward 
flight 
Left her last footprint ere she passed from 
sight. 


What nobler love can honest bosoms find 
Than this sweet solitude and bland con- 
tent? 

Peace and no troubles for the weary mind, 
Nor Fortune’s fickleness nor blandish-| 
ment; 
Where high above the accidents of Fate 
Man lives and dies, without a fear or hate. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MARTIN DE LA PLAZA 


to 
Ne) 
on 


LUIS MARTIN DE LA PLAZA 
(1577-1625) 


MADRIGAL 


Luis MarTiN DE LA PLAZA was a native of 
Antequera. His education was obtained 
at the University of Osuna, and he was or- 
dained a priest in'1598. His poems may be 
found in Flores de poetas ilustres de Espafia, 
by Pedro Espinosa. 


On the green margin of the land | 
Where Guadalhorce winds his way 

My Lady lay. 

With golden key, Sleep’s gentle hand 
Had closed her eyes so bright,— 

Her eyes, two suns of light,— 

And bade his balmy dews 

Her rosy cheeks suffuse. 

The River God in slumber saw her laid, 
He raised his dripping head 

With weeds o’erspread, 


AND MONOGRAPHS | IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Clad in his wintry robes approached the 
maid, 

And with cold kiss, like Death, 

Drank the rich perfume of the maiden’s 
breath. 

The maiden felt that icy kiss; 

Her suns unclosed, their flame 

Full and unclouded on the intruder came. 

Amazed the bold intruder felt 

His frothy body melt, 

And heard the radiance on his bosom hiss; 

And, forced in blind confusion to retire, 

Leapt in the water to escape the fire. 

—Robert Southey. 


IV 


HISPANIC (NOTES 


y ; 
. a% 
* 
‘ 
t 


From ‘‘Pacheco's Album"’ 


Rodrigo Caro 


RODRIGO CARO 299 


RODRIGO CARO 
(1573-1647) 
THE RUINS OF ITALICA 


—_. 


Roprico Caro was the son of distinguished 
parents of Utrera. He was graduated at the 
University of Osuna in 1596, being later named 
Visttador of the Archepiscopal estates, and be- 
coming famousasa lawyer. He formed part 
of the literary circle of Francisco Pacheco in 
Seville and is supposed to be represented in 
the portrait marked as that of the unknown 
poet. His Antigiiedades of Seville appeared 
in 1634. He left some few sonnets beside 
his famous ode on The Ruins of Iidlica. See 
the cdition of his works published by the 
|Sociedad de Biblidfilos Andaluces (Seville, 
1883),and Rodrigo Caro, by Santiago Montoto 
| (Seville, 1915). 
| I 


Fabius, this region desolate and drear, 
These solitary fields, this shapeless mound 
Were once Itdlica, the far-renowned: 


| 

| 

} 

| 

} 
HISPANIC NOTES | IV | 


HISPANIC ANTReT eer. 


For Scipio the mighty planted here 

His conquering colony, and now, o’er- 
thrown, 

Lie its once-dreaded walls of massive stone, 

Sad relics, sad and vain 

Of those invincible men 

Who held the region then. 

Funereal memories alone remain 

Where forms of high example walked of 
yore. 

Here lay the forum, there arose the fane— 

The eye beholds their places, and no more. 

Their proud gymnasium and their sumptu- 
ous baths, 

Resolved to dust and cinders, strew the 
paths; 

Their towers that looked defiance at the sky, 

Fallen by their own vast weight, in frag- 
ments lie. 


2 


This broken circus, where the rock-weeds 
climb, 

Flaunting with yellow blossoms, and defy 

The gods to whom its walls were piled so 
high, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


RODRIGO CARO 


Is now a tragic theatre, where Time | 

Acts his great fable, spreads a stage that 
shows 

Past grandeur’s story and its dreary close. 

Why, round this desert pit, 

Shout not the applauding rows 

Where the great people sit? 

Wild beasts are here, but where the com- 
batants? 

With his bare arms, the strong athleta 
where? 

All have departed from this once gay haunt 

Of noisy crowds, and silence holds the 
air. 

Yet on this spot, Time gives us to behold 

A spectacle as stern as those of old. 

As dreamily I gaze, there seem to rise, 

From all the mighty ruin, wailing cries. 


3 


The terrible in war, the pride of Spain 

Trajan, his country’s father, here was born; 

Good, fortunate, triumphant, to whose 
reign 

Submitted the far regions, where the morn 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


HISPANIC ‘ANTHOLOGY: 


Rose from her cradle, and the shore whose 


steeps 

O’erlooked the conquered Gaditanian 
deeps. 

Of mighty Adrian here, 


Of Theodosius, saint, 

Of Silius, Virgil’s peer, 

Were rocked the cradles, rich in gold and 
quaint 

With ivory carvings, here were laurel- 
boughs 

And sprays of jasmine cnihoned for their 
brows 

From gardens now a marshy, thorny waste. 

Where rose the palace, reared for Cesar, 
yawn 

Foul rifts to which the scudding lizards 
haste. 

Palaces, gardens, Cesars, all are gone, 

And even the stones their names were 
graven on. 


4 


Fabius, if tears prevent thee not, survey 
The long-dismantled streets, so thronged 
of old, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ee a ee 


RODRIGO CARO 


The broken marbles, arches in decay, 

Proud statues, toppled from their place 
and rolled 

In dust when Nemesis, the avenger, came, 

And buried in forgetfulness profound, 

The owners and their fame. 

Thus Troy, I deem must be, 

With many a mouldering mound; 

And thou, whose name alone belongs to 
thee, 

Rome, of old gods and kings the native 
ground; 

And thou, sage Athens, built by Pallas, 

' whom 

Just laws redeemed not from the appointed 
doom— 

The envy of earth’s cities once wert thou— 

A weary solitude and ashes now! 

For Fate and Death respect ye not; they 
strike 

The mighty city and the wise alike. 


5 
But why goes forth the wandering thought 


to frame 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


304 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


IV 


New themes of sorrow, sought in distant 
lands? 

Enough the example that before me stands; 

For here are smoke wreaths seen, and 
glimmering flame, 

And hoarse lamentings on the breezes die; 

So doth the mighty ruin cast its spell 

On those who near it dwell. 

And under night’s still sky, 

As awe-struck peasants tell, 

A melancholy voice is heard to cry: 

“‘Ttalica is fallen!”’ the echoes then 

Mournfully shout ‘‘Italica” again. 

The leafy alleys of the forest round 

Murmur “‘Itdlica,”’ and all around 

A troop of mighty shadows at the sound 

Of that illustrious name, repeat the call 

“Ttalica” from ruined tower and wall. 

—William Cullen Bryant. 


ORPHEUS 


Oblivion’s misty prison ceased its moan 
Before the Thracian youth; ceased too 
the lyre 
Its consonance; the tears and fond desire 


HISPANIC NOTES 


— 


RODRIGO CARO 305 


Ceased in their gentle sweetness to intone. 
Sisiphus, at hearing, rests his stone; 
And Tantalus might have eased his 
hunger dire 
With that elusive apple, and no ire 
Attend him from dread Radamanthus’ 
Throne. 


But see, Eurydice is passing through 
The deeps of Orcus, oh, behold her doom! 
They turn, he to his moan, she to her 
chains! 
O Love, how good and ill are joined in you! 
Tn one poor lover how could you presume 
To give his voice such power,—his 
eyes such pains? 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS sain 


| 


306 | HISPANIC Whttierocy: 


FRAY HORTENSIO FELIS DE PARA- 


VICINO Y ARTEAGA 
(1580-1633) 


SONNET ON THE TOMB OF THE 
PAINTER WHO WAS EL GRECO 
OF TOLEDO 


Fray HortTensio FELIS DE PARAVICINO y Ar- 
TEAGA was born at Madrid of a distinguished 
family. He studied with the Jesuits and 
graduated with honors at the University of 
Salamanca. At the age of nineteen he 
joined the Order of the Trinitarios Calzados 
and obtained the Doctorate of the University 
in 1601. In 1605 he preached the address of 
welcome to Philip IT on his visit to Salamanca; 
after which he was called to court and made 
preacher to the King, on whose death he was 
made preacher to Philip III. He was a 
famous predicador, following the style of 
Géngora; he was also a friend of El Greco 
and noted for his wit and fancy. His poetical 
works did not appear until after his death, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


From the painting by ‘-El Greco" 


Fray Hortensio 
(F. de Paravicino y Arteaga) 


FRAY HORTENSIO | 309 


jbeine entitled Obras postumas divinas y| 
humanas de Fray Felix de Arteaga (Madrid, | 


1641). 


Here all of Greco that can be confined 
Doth Piety lay; here buries, and here! 
seals; 
Gently dispose him, gently, so he feels | 
No footsteps stir the part he left behind! 
His fame no silence upon earth shall bind 
Where men are born; though envy’s 
breast be steel’s 
Against it; for no other star reveals 
Such radiant glow on our horizon blind. 


The higher life he wrought,—not Es 
applause, — | 
Greater Apelles!—and the wonderment 
Of ages shall invoke his stranger 
| ways!— 
Crete gave him birth; the brush with which 
he draws, 
Toledo;—and a better land is bent 
To grant him rest eternal to his days! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


on 


HISPANIC NOTES 


310 


HISPANIC) ANT ReLTOGY: 


IV 


THE DIVINE PASSION 


Pierced are Thy feet, O Lord, pierced are 
. Thy hands; 
Thy head a shaggy grove of bitter thorn; 
Thou hangest on the shameful tree of 
scorn; 
Thy woe my feeble sense half siderite) 
You who love God and who would light the 
brands 
Of righteous vengeance ’gainst such 
outrage lorn, 
Look, these are things of wonder made 
to warn 
The hearts of Jew and Greek and Roman 
lands! 


Tis you have caused this anguish, of which 
you, 

Dishonest, are a witness, judge and part— 

Your sin against this innocence makes 
war! 

O mortal, to your ceaseless wrongs are due 

This silent victim—I would charge yout 


heart 
With malice that against its God it 
bore. —Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


sepa retro Ls ie 


\ 
i . 

Le 
Te Dee at 
Tee 


pe’ 


- 


SDE QUEVE 


~—— . we — 


> ee 


- ut GervEDo 


- Tes 
+d 


a 
a 
4 ae 


Syl — it le OL A ee 


FRANCISCO DE QUEVEDO 


FRANCISCO DE QUEVEDO Y 
VILLEGAS 
(1580-1645) 
LETRILLA: THE LORD OF DOLLARS 


FRANCISCO DE QUEVEDO y VILLEGAS was born 
at Madrid, the son of good family. His 
education was received at AlcalA de Henares, 
but after a duel he fled to Italy and took 
service under the Duke of Osuna, in whose 
disgrace he was involved in 1618. Returning 
to Spain, he found no favor with Olivares, 
being accused of having lampooned that fa- 
vorite. He wasimprisoned for four years in 
the monastery of San Marcos of Leon. He 
died at Villanueva, leaving a great reputation 
as diplomat, scholar, and poet. His poems 
are to be found in the Biblioteca de autores 
espafioles (vol. 69). The Sociedad de Biblio- 
filos Andaluces began the publication of his 
complete works at Seville in 1897. 


Over kings and priests and scholars 
Rules the mighty Lord of Dollars. 


311 


HISPANIC NOTES 


IV 


312 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Mother, unto gold I yield me, 
He and I are ardent lovers; 
Pure affection now discovers 
How his sunny rays shall shield me! 
For a trifle more or less 
All his power will confess,— 
Over kings and priests and scholars 
Rules the mighty Lord of Dollars. 


In the Indies did they nurse him, 
While the world stood round admiring; 
And in Spain was his expiring; 
And in Genoa did they hearse him; 
And the ugliest at his side 
Shines with all of beauty’s pride; 
Over kings and priests and scholars 
Rules the mighty Lord of Dollars. 


He’s a gallant, he’s a winner, 
Black or white be his complexion; 
He is brave without correction 
As a Moor or Christian sinner. 
He makes cross and medal bright, 
And he smashes laws of right,— 
Over kings and priests and scholars 
Rules the mighty Lord of Dollars. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRANCISCO DE QUEVEDO 


Noble are his proud ancestors 
For his blood-veins are patrician; 
Royalties make the position 
Of his Orient investors; 
So they find themselves preferred 
To the duke or country herd,— 
Over kings and priests and scholars, 
Rules the mighty Lord of Dollars! 


Of his standing who can question 
When there yields unto his rank, a 
Hight-Castillian Dofia Blanca, 
If you follow the suggestion?— 
He that crowns the lowest stool, 
And to hero turns the fool,— 
Over kings and priests and scholars, 
Rules the mighty Lord of Dollars. 


On his shields are noble bearings; 
His emblazonments unfurling 
Show his arms of royal sterling 
All his high pretensions airing; 
And the credit of his miner 
Stands behind the proud refiner,— 
Over kings and priests and scholars 
Rules the mighty Lord of Dollars. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


313 


314 |HISPANIC® ANTHOLOGY: 


Contracts, bonds, and bills to render, 
Like his counsels most excelling, 
Are esteemed within the dwelling 
Of the banker and the lender. 
So is prudence overthrown, . 
And the judge complaisant grown,— 
Over kings and priests and scholars 
Rules the mighty Lord of Dollars. 


Such indeed his sovereign standing 
(With some discount in the order), 
Spite the tax, the cash-recorder 

Still his value fixed is branding. 

He keeps rank significant 

To the prince or man in want,— 
Over kings and priests and scholars 
Rules the mighty Lord of Dollars. 


Never meets he dames ungracious 
To his smiles or his attention, 
How they glow but at the mention 

Of his promises capacious! 

And how bare-faced they become 

To the coin beneath his thumb!— 
Over kings and priests and scholars 
Rules the mighty Lord of Dollars. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRANCISCO DEQUEVEDO 


315 


Mightier in peaceful season 
(And in this his wisdom showeth) 
Are his standards, than when bloweth 
War his haughty blasts and breeze on; 
In all foreign lands at home, 
Equal e’en in pauper’s loam,— 
Over kings and priests and scholars 
Rules the mighty Lord of Dollars. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


ROME IN HER RUINS 


| Amidst these scenes, O Pilgrim, seek’st| 
thou Rome! 
Vain is thy search—the pomp of Rome is 
fled; 
Her silent Aventine is glory’s tomb; 
Her walls, hershrines, but relicsofthedead. 


That hill, where Cesars dwelt in other days, 


Forsaken mourns where once it towered 
sublime; 
Each mouldering medal now far less dis- 
plays 
The triumphs won by Latium, than by 
Time. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Tiber alone survives—the passing wave 
That bathed her towers now murmurs by 
her grave, 
Wailing with plaintive sound her fallen 
fanes. 
Rome! of thine ancient grandeur all is 
past 
That seemed for years eternal framed to 
last, 
Nought but the wave, a fugitive—re- 
mains. 


—Felicia D. Hemans. 


SONNET: DEATH-WARNINGS ° 


I saw the ramparts of my native land 
One time so strong, now dropping in 
decay, 
Their strength destroyed by this new 
age’s way 
That has worn out and rotted what was 
grand. 
I went into the fields; there I could 
see 
The sun drink up the waters newly 
thawed; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRANCISCO DE QUEVEDO 


And on the hills the moaning cattle 
pawed, 
Their miseries robbed the light of day for 
me. 


I went into my house; I saw how spotted, 
Decaying things made that old home 
their prize; 
My withered walking-staff had come 
to bend. 
I felt the age had won; my sword was 
rotted; 
And there was nothing on which to set 
’ my eyes 
That was not a reminder of the end. 
—John Masefield. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


317 


318 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


IV 


FRANCISCO DE BORJA 
(1581-1658) 


CANCION 


FRANCISCO DE Borja, Prince of Esquilache, 
was partly of Italian origin. His verse is 
simple and natural with an occasional lapse 
into the Gongoristic style. His poems are 
to be found in the Biblioteca de autores 
espanoles. 


Ye laughing streamlets, say, 

Sporting with the‘sands, where do ye wend 
your way 

From the flowerets flying, 

To rocks and caverns hieing; 

When ye might sleep in calmness and peace 

Why hurry thus in wearying restlessness? 


Whither is she going?—whither is she going? 
Sweetest maid of sweetest maidens,—she, 
our village-pride,— 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRANCISCO DE BORJA 319 


Fresher than the daybreak,—lighter than 
the day,— | 
Whither is she going? 
Oshe is gone to the greenest meadow’s side, | 
Where the sweet flowers are growing. 
She gathers and she scatters sweet flowerets. 
on her way; 
Look! how the flowerets are blowing. 
’Tis the Day of Saint John,—the Evangel-| 
ist’s Day,— 
Whither is she going? 


—John Bowring. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


320 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


JUAN DE TASSIS 
(1582-1622) 


TO A CLOISTRESS 


Juan DE Tassis, Count of Villamediana, 
was born at Lisbon. In 1611 he was expelled 
from court for gambling.. He returned to 
Spain in 1617, where he satirised the Duke of 
Lerma and other court favorites. While 
gentleman-in-waiting to Isabel of Bourbon, 
wife of Philip IV, he was assassinated, it is 
said, by order of the King, who had discovered 
him to be a lover of the Queen. His works 
are to be found in the Biblioteca de autores 
espafoles (vol. xlii). See also El Conde de 
Villamediana, by Emilio Cotarelo y Mori 
(Madrid, 1886). 


Thou who hast fled from life’s enchanted 
bowers 

In youth’s gay spring, in beauty’s 
glowing morn, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JUAN DE TASSIS 


Leaving thy bright array, thy path of 
flowers, 

For the rude convent-garb and couch 
of thorn; 


Thou that escaping from a world of cares, 
Hast found thy haven in devotion’s fane, 
As to the port the fearful bark repairs, 
To shun the midnight perils of the main; 


Now the glad hymn, the strain of rapture 
pour 
While on thy soul the beams of glory 
rise! 
For if the pilot hail the welcome shore 
With shouts of triumph swelling to the 
skies, 
Oh, how should’st thou the exulting paean 
Taise 
Now heaven’s bright harbor opens to thy 
gaze! 
—Felicia D. Hemans: 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


322 |HISPANTC! ANPROTOGY: 


ESTEBAN MANUEL DE VILLEGAS 
(1589-1669) 


SPRING-TIME 


EsTEBAN MANUEL DE VILLEGAS was born at 
Matute, where he practised law and was pros- 
ecuted by the Inquisition, being exiled to 
Santa Maria de Ribarredonda in 1659. His 
works reveal him as an opponent of the Gon- 
gorists and as a classical scholar. His Eréticas, 
edited by Vicente de los Rios, appeared at 
Madrid in 1774 and again in 1797. 


’Tis sweet in the green spring 
To gaze upon the wakening fields 
around; 
Birds in the thicket sing, 
Winds whisper, waters prattle, from the 
ground 
A thousand odors rise, 
Breathed up from blossoms of a thousand 
dyes. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


M: DE VILLEGAS 


Shadowy and clear and cool, 
The pine and poplar keep their quiet 
nook; 
Forever fresh and full, 
Shines at their feet the thirst-inviting 
brook; 
And the soft herbage seems 
Spread for a place of banquets and of 
dreams. 


Thou, who alone art fair, 
And whom alone I love, art far away. 
Unless thy smile be there, 
It makes me sad to see the earth so gay; 
| 
| 


I care not if the train 
Of leaves and flowers and zephyrs go again. 
—William Cullen Bryant. 


THE MOTHER NIGHTINGALE 


I have seen a nightingale 

On a sprig of thyme bewail 
Seeing the dear nest which was 
Hers alone, borne off, alas! 

By a laborer. I heard, 

For this outrage, the poor bird 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


324 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Say a thousand mournful things 

To the wind which on its wings 

To the Guardian of the sky 

Bore her melancholy cry, 

Bore her tender tears. She spake 

As if her fond heart would break, 

One while in a sad, sweet note 

Gurgled from her straining throat, 

She enforced her piteous tale, 

Mournful prayer and plaintive wail; 

One while, with the shrill dispute 

Quite outwearied, she was mute; 

Then afresh, for her dear brood 

Her harmonious shrieks renewed. 

Now she winged it round and round; 

Now she skimmed along the ground; 

Now from bough to bough, in haste, 

The delighted robber chased, 

And, alighting in his path, 

Seemed to say ’twixt grief and wrath, 

“Give me back, fierce rustic rude, 

Give me back my pretty brood, ””— 

And I heard the rustic still 

Answer,—‘‘ That I never will.”— 
—Thomas Roscoe. 


Lid HISPANIC NOTES 


Ey M. DE VILLEGAS 


SAPPHIC ODE 


Thou gracious dwellerof thewoodland green, 

Companion ever of the April flowers, 

And living breath of mother Venus’s heart, 
O gentle zephyr!— 


If thou dost know the sorrows of my love,— 
Thou that dost bear afar my sad lament,— 
Hear me and frankly say to her I love 

That here I perish! 


Filis, who once my bitter yearnings knew, 
Filis, who once my bitter yearnings wept, 
Once did she love me, but, alas, I fear, 

I fear her anger! 


|So do the gods with their paternal breasts, 
Sodotheheavens with all their hearts benign 
Withdraw themselves, what time thy glad- 
some wing 
The snows uncover; 


Never the dark clouds’ burden, at the break 
Of morn along the lofty mountain chain, 
Bruises thy shoulders, nor their bitter hail 
Shatters thy pinions! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


325 


IV 


a 
| 326 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 
i | SSeS we 

a 


FRANCISCO DE TERRAZAS 
(Early Seventeenth Century) 


TO A BEAUTIFUL BUT HEARTLESS 
COQUETTE 


FRANCISCO DE TERRAZAS was born in Mexico 
early in the seventeenth century, the son of 
one of the generals of Hernan Cortés in his 
campaign in Mexico. Francisco de Terrazas 
is therefore the first native-born poet of 
Spanish-America, 


Renounce those threads of twisted gold 
that close 

In glinting ringlets round my captive will, 

And on the virgin snowdrift in repose 

The tinted whiteness of these roses spill. 

Of pearls and precious corals that adorn 

This mouth enticingly, be thou but shorn; 

And to the heavens, by which thou’rt 
envied still, 

Return the stolen suns that thou hast worn. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FRANCISCO DE TERRAZAS 


The grace and wisdom, which as symbols 
stand 

Of knowledge springing from the Source 
Divine, 

Surrender to the far angelic sphere; 

And thus renounced the gifts of Nature’s} 
hand, : 

Behold, that which remains to thee is thine; 

To be ungrateful, cruel, vain, austere! 

—Peter H. Goldsmith. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC (ANTENO TE @Gry: 


IV 


FRANCISCO DE OCANA 
(Early Seventeenth Century) 


OPEN THE DOOR 


FRANCISCO DE OcaNa was a Castilian poet who 
flourished about the beginning of the seven- 
teenth century. He adhered to the methods 
of the old Spanish poets and left a number 
of songs, mostly devotional in character. 


O porter, ope the door for me! 

I’m shivering in the cold and rain; 
Take pity on the stranger’s pain! 

I and this poor old man have come 
Tired wanderers from a foreign shore, 
And here we stray without a home; 

His weariness o’erwhelms me more 
Than my own woe. Oh, ope your door 
To shelter us from cold and rain!— 
Take pity on the stranger’s pain! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


pi | 
FRANCISCO DE OCANA 


The night is dark, and dull and cold; 
No inn is open on the road; 

The dreary midnight bell hath tolled, 
And not a straggler walks abroad; 
We nought but solitude behold, 
Pelted by driving hail and rain,— 
Take pity on the stranger’s pain! 


Be kind, be generous, friend! thy door 
Throw open for the love of heaven; 
Weare but two—but two—no more,— 
I and my poor old husband, driven 
For refuge here; and we implore 
Ashelter. Shall we ask in vain?— 
Take pity on the stranger’s pain! 


Here give us welcome; thou wilt be 
Rewarded by God’s grace, which can 
Shower unexpected joys; though he 
May be an old, defenceless man, 

Yet God has recompense for thee; 
Thou may’st a noble guerdon gain;— 
Take pity on the stranger’s pain. 


Let us not tarry longer,—ope! 
We're chilled with cold,—so ope, I pray! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


330 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Ope to the wanderers now, and hope 

They well thy kindness may repay; 

Time and eternity give scope 

For recompense. The wind and rain, 

Beat on,—relieve the stranger’s pain! 
—Anonymous. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


From a print in the Hispanic Society of America 


Pedro Calderén de la Barca 


CALDERON DE LA BARCA | 333 


PEDRO CALDERON DE LA BARCA 
(1600-1681) | 


THE DREAM CALLED LIFE 


From La Vida es Suefio 


PEDRO CALDERON DE LA Barca, the supreme 
poet of the Spanish stage, was born at Madrid. 
He became the favorite dramatist of Philip 
IV, who created him Knight of Santiago in 
1637. He took part in the hostilities in 
Catalonia in 1640, and became a priest in 
1651, which did not, however, interfere with 
his writing for the theatre until his death at 
Madrid. Numerous translations of his plays 
have appeared in English, showing his superior 
lyrical gifts, even if his inventiveness does 
not equal that of Lope de Vega. See his 
Poesias (Cadiz, 1845); Calderon und seine 
Werke by Gunther (Freiburg, 1888); and 
Calderon, His Life and Genius, by R. C. Trench 
(New York, 1856). 


A dream it was in which I found myseif. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


IV 


334 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


And you that hail me now, then hailed me 
-king, 

In a brave palace that was all my own, 

Within, and all without it, mine; until, 

Drunk with excess of majesty and pride, 

Methought I towered so big and swelled 
so wide 

That of myself I burst the glittering bubble 

Which my ambition had about me blown 

And all again was darkness. Sucha dream 

As this, in which I may be walking now, 

Dispensing solemn justice to you shadows, 

Who make believe to listen; but anon 

Kings, princes, captains, warriors, plume 
and steel, 

Ay, even with all your airy theatre, 

May flit into the air you seem to rend 

With acclamations, leaving me to wake 

In the dark tower; or dreaming that I wake 

From this that waking is; or this and that, 

Both waking and both dreaming; such a 
doubt ; 

Confounds and clouds our mortal life about. 

But whether wake or dreaming, this I 
know 

How dreamwise human glories come and go; 


FY: 


HISPANIC NOTES 


And all the praise he receives 


CALDERON DE LA BARCA 


Whose momentary tenure not to break, 
Walking as one who knows he soon may'| 
wake, 
So fairly carry the full cup, so well 
Disordered insolence and passion quell, 
That there be nothing after to upbraid 
Dreamer or doer in the part he played; 
Whether tomorrow’s dawn shall break the 
spell, 
Or the last trumpet of the Eternal Day, 
When dreaming, with the night, shall pass. 
away. 
—Edward Fitzgerald. 


FROM “LIFE IS A DREAM” 


We live, while we see the sun, 
Where life and dreams are as one; 
And living has taught me this, 
Man dreams the life that is his, 

Until his living is done. 

The king dreams he is king, and he lives 
In the deceit of a king, 

Commanding and governing; 


Is written in wind, and leaves 


AND MONOGRAPHS | 


IV 


336 


HISPANIC ANTHO@GEY: 


A little dust on the way 

When death ends all with a breath. 

Where then is the gain of a throne, 

That shall perish and not be known 

In the other dream that is death? 

Dreams the rich man of riches and fears, 

The fears that his riches breed; 

The poor man dreams of his need, 

And all his sorrows and tears; 

Dreams he that prospers with years, 

Dreams he that feigns and foregoes, 

Dreams he that rails on his foes; 

And in all the world, I see, 

Man dreams whatever he be, 

And his own dream no man knows. 

And I too dream and behold, 

I dream I am bound with chains, 

And I dreamed that these present pains 

Were fortunate ways of old. 

What is life? a tale that is told; 

What is life? a frenzy extreme, 

A shadow of things that seem; 

And the greatest good is but small, 

That all life is a dream to all, 

And that dreams themselves are a dream. 
—Arthur Symons. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


CALDERON DE LA BARCA 


THE CROSS 


Tree which heaven has willed to dower 
With that true fruit whence we live, 
As that other death did give; 
Of new Eden loveliest flower; 
Bow of light, that in worst hour 
Of the worst flood signal true 
O’er the world, of mercy threw; 
Fair plant, yielding sweetest wine; 
Of our David harp divine; 
Of our Moses tables new; 
Sinner am J, therefore I 
Claim upon thy mercies make; 
Since alone for sinners’ sake 
God on thee endured to die. 
—R. C. Trench. 


THE HOLY EUCHARIST 


Honey in the lion’s mouth, 
Emblem mystical, divine, 
How the sweet and strong combine; 
Cloven rock for Israel’s drouth; 
Treasure-house of golden grain 

By our Joseph laid in store, 
In his brethren’s famine sore 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Freely to dispense again; 
Dew on Gideon’s snowy fleece; 
Well, from bitter turned to sweet; 
Shew-bread laid in order meet, 
Bread whose cost doth ne’er increase, 
Though no rain in April fall; 
Horeb’s manna freely given 
Showered in white dew from heaven, 
Marvelous, angelical; 
Weightiest bunch of Canaan’s vine; 
Cake to strengthen and sustain 
Through long days of desert pain; 
Salem’s monarch’s bread and wine;— 
Thou the antidote shalt be 
Of my sickness and my sin, 
Consolation, medicine, 
Life and Sacrament to me. 

—R Gee iixench: 


HISPANIC NOTES 


From an old Painting 


Baltasar Graci4n y Morales 


GRACIAN Y MORALES | 341 


BALTASAR GRACIAN Y MORALES 
(1601-1658) 


SUMMER 

; ' 

BaLTASAR GraAcIAN y Moraes was a native 

of Belmonte near Calatayud. He became a 

Jesuit, and obtained great renown as a 

philosopher. In his poetry he follows and 
exceeds Géngora in extravagance of style. 


After, in the celestial theatre 
The horseman of the day is seen to spur 
To the refulgent Bull, in his brave hold 
Shaking for darts his rays of burning gold. 
The beauteous spectacle of stars—a crowd 
Of lovely dames, his tricks applaud aloud; 
They, to enjoy the splendor of the fight, 
Remain on heaven’s high balcony of light. 
Then is strange metamorphosis, with 
spurs 
And crest of fire, red-throated Phoebus 
stirs, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


342 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Like a proud cock amongst the hens divine 
Hatched out of Leda’s egg, the Twins that! ° 
shine, : 

Hens of the heavenly field. 

—J. H. Wiffen. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


VIOLANTE DO CEO 


SISTER VIOLANTE DO CEO 
(1601-1693) 


“WHILE TO BETHLEHEM WE ARE 
GOING” 


SISTER VIOLANTE DO CEO was born, lived and 
died in Lisbon where, in 1630, she made her 
profession as a Dominican sister. Her works 
are to be found in Rimas varias (Rouen, 
1646) and in the Parnaso Lusitano de divinos 
e humanos versos (Lisbon, 1733). 


While to Bethlehem we are going, 
Tell me, Blas, to cheer the road, 
Tell me why this lovely Infant 
Quitted His divine abode?— 
“From that world to bring to this 
Peace, which, of all earthly blisses, 
Is the brightest, purest bliss.” 


Wherefore from His throne exalted, 
Came He on His earth to dwell— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


344 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


All His pomp an humble manger, 
All His court a narrow cell?— 
“From that world to bring to this 
Peace, which, of all earthly blisses, 
Is the brightest, purest bliss.” 


Why did He, the Lora eternal, 
Mortal pilgrim deign to be, 

He who fashioned for His glory 
Boundless immortality?— 

“From that world to bring to this 
Peace, which, of all earthly blisses, 
Is the brightest, purest bliss.” 


Well then! let us haste to Bethlehem, 

Thither let us haste and rest; 

For of all heaven’s gifts the sweetest 

Sure is peace,—the sweetest, best. 
—John Bowring. 


THE NIGHT OF MARVELS 


In such a marvelous night, so fair 

And full of wonder strange and new, 
Ye shepherds of the vale, declare 

Who saw the greatest wonder? Who? 


iy HISPANIC NOTES 


VLOLANTE DO CEO 


345 


First. I saw the trembling fire look wan. 
Second. I saw the sun shed tears of blood | 
Third. I saw a God become a man. 
Fourth. I saw a man become a God. 


O wondrous marvels! at the thought, 
The bosom’s awe and reverence move; | 
But who such prodigies has wrought? | 
What gave such wonders birth? 9 ’Twas) 
love! . 


What called from heaven that ieee 
divine, 
Which streams in glory from above; 
And bade it o’er earth's bosom shine, 
And bless us with its brightness? Love! 


Who bade the glorious sun arrest 
His course, and o’er heaven’s concave 
move 
In tears,—the saddest, loneliest 
Of the celestial orbs? ”Twas love! 


Who raised the human race so high, 
Even to the starry seats above, 
That for our mortal progeny, | 
A man becomes a God? "Twaslove! | 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


346 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Who humbled from the seats of light . 
Their Lord, all human woes to prove; 

Led the great source of day—to night; 
And made of Goda man? ’Twas love! 


Yes, love has wrought, and love alone, 
The victories all,—beneath,—above,— 

And earth and heaven shall shout as one, 
The all-triumphant song of love. 


The song through all heaven’s arches ran, 
And told the wondrous tales aloud,— 
The trembling fire that looked so wan, 
The weeping sun behind the cloud. 
A God—a God! becomes a man! 
A mortal man becomes a God! 
—John Bowring. 


IV 


HISPANIC NO@ES 


FPF. M. DE MELO 


FRANCISCO MANUEL DE MELO 
(1611-1667) 


ON ASCENDING A HILL LEADING 
TO A CONVENT 


Francisco MANUEL DE MELO, an historian 
and poet, was born of an illustrious family at 
Lisbon. His works may be found in Obras 
métricas (Lyons, 1665). 


Pause not with lingering foot, O pilgrim, 


here, 
Pierce the deep shadows of the moun-) 
tain-side; 

Firm be thy step, thy heart unknown to 
fear, 

To brighter worlds this thorny path will) 
guide. 


Soon shall thy foot approach the calm | 
abode 


So near the mansions of supreme delight;| 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


IV 


Pause not, but tread this consecrated road 
’Tis the dark basis of the heavenly height. 


Behold to cheer thee on the toilsome way, 
How many a fountain glitters down the 
hill! 
Pure gales inviting softly round thee play, 
Bright sunshine guides—and wilt thou 
linger still? 
Oh, enter there, where, freed from human 
strife, ; 
Hope is reality and time is life. 
—Felicia D. Hemans. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MARCELA DE CARPIO 


SISTER MARCELA DE CARPIO DE 
SAN FELIX 
_ (Middle of Sixteenth Century) 


AMOR MYSTICUS 


S1isTER MARcELA DE CARPIO DE SAN FELIX, 
a nun of the Trinitarian Order, was the 
daughter of the great poet Lope de Vega 
Carpio. She is a famous figure among the re- 
ligious mystical writers of the period follow- 
ing that of Saint Teresa of Avila. Her prin- 
cipal poem is Soliloguios de un alma a Dios. 


Let them say to my Lover 
That here I lie! 

The thing of His pleasure,— 
His slave am I. 


Say that I seek Him 
Only for love, 

And welcome are tortures 
My passion to prove. 


349 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Love giving gifts 

Is suspicious and cold; 
T have all, my Belovéd 
When Thee I hold. 


Hope and devotion 
The good may gain; 
Tam but worthy 

Of passion and pain. 


So noble a Lord 

None serves in vain, 
For the pay of my love 
Is my love’s sweet pain. 


I love Thee, to love Thee,— 
No more I desire; 

By faith is nourished 

My love’s strong fire. 


I kiss Thy hands 

When I feel their blows; 
In the place of caresses 
Thou givest me woes. 


But in Thy chastising 
Is joy and peace. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES | 


MARCELA DE CARPIO 


351 


O Master and Love, 
Let Thy blows not cease. 


Thy beauty, Belovéd, 

With scorn is rife, 

But I know that Thou lovest me 
Better than life. 


And because Thou lovest me, 
Lover of mine, 

Death can but make me. 
Utterly Thine. 


I die with longing 
Thy face to see; 
Oh! sweet is the anguish 
Of death to me! 
—John Hay. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


352 


| HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


GASPAR DE JAEN: “GASPARILLO” 
(Middle of Seventeenth Century) 


DIALOGUE 


(Between the Asistente of Seville and the 
River Guadalquivir, the latter being very swollen 
at the time.) 


GASPAR DE JAEN, “‘GASPARILLO,”’ wasa poet of 
singular satirical bitterness who flourished in 
Seville about the middle of the seventeenth 
century. Thedateand place of his birth and 
of his death are unknown, but he is supposed 
to have been of mulatto blood, and to have 
been possessed of a real mania of hatred for 
the officials of the government at Seville. 
See Gasparillo, by Santiago Montoto (Seville, 


1913). 


ASISTENTE: 

Know, Guadalquivir, I am master here! 
GUADALQUIVIR: : 

I know it, Sefior; what is your desire? 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


| 
GASPARILLO 


ASISTENTE: 

That you suspend your floods and go no 

higher; 

Meseems you are excessive in career! 
GUADALQUIVIR: 

Your challenge is impertinent and queer, 

For see you not, I am another’s squire? 

ASISTENTE: 


So then you disobey me?— 
GUADALQUIVIR: | 
Foolish, sire, 
How can I stem my floods your course to 
steer? 
ASISTENTE: 


In Count of Olivares’ name, then cease; 

He is your offspring and my chief su- 
preme,— 

And you shall have a decoration 

high! 

GUADALQUIVIR: 

What, one of Manzanares’ fripperies!— 

I want it not, nor fear its hollow’ 
gleam! 

Confer it, please, on Tagarete nigh, | 


Which being but a stream of ad 
supply 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


| 353 


354 HISPANIC: ANGER OLOGY: 
Would stoop its shoulders unto any 
crime, 
And take your decoration as sublime! 
—Thomas Walsh. 
IV HISPANIC NOTES 


From the painting in the Convent of S. Jerénimo, 
Mexico City 


Sister Juana Inés de la Cruz 


nES DE LA CRUZ ||| 


SISTER JUANA INES DE LA CRUZ | 
(1651-1691) 


THE LOST LOVE 


SIsTER JUANA INES DE LA CRUZ was born, 
| Juana de Asbaje, at San Miguel de Nepanitla 
jin Mexico. From childhood she showed 
literary ability and some of her poems are 
‘considered the product of the years prior to 
|her entrance into the convent in 1667. She| 
died of the plague in Mexico City. For her 
poems, see the edition by Juan Gamacho 
Gayna (Madrid, 1725), and for her biography, 
Juana de Asbaje by Amado Nervo (Madrid, | 
IgI0o). 


Ah! when shall I, my glory, 

Discern thy light in radiance shining, 

Thy presence illusory, - 

To bring me sweet release from grief and 
pining? | 


HISPANIC NOTES 


358 


IV 


HISPANIC, ANTHOLOGY: 


When shall I see thine eyes, enchanting 
rapture, 
And yield thee mine, as tender capture? 


When will thy voice awaken 

Mine ears with thrilling accents from their 
sadness, 

And I, enthralled, o’ertaken 

By the floods of its ineffable gladness, 

Be swept away in ecstasy, and after 

The marvel wanes, hasten to thee with 
laughter? 


When will thy light effulgent 

Reclothe with roseate glamour all my being? 

And when shall I, indulgent, 

The anguish of my sighs exhaled and fleeing, 

No more bemoan the pangs of my past 
sorrow? 

When thou shalt come, and glorify the 
morrow! 


Come then, my soul’s dear treasure, 

Since fast through weariness my life is 
fading, 

And absence without measure; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


INES DE LA CRUZ 


Come then, lest, heeding not my soft 
persuading, 
Thou wound my love; e’en yet, despite 
mine anger, 
With tears of hope I will refresh my languor! 
—Peter H. Goldsmith. 


CAPRICE 


Who thankless flees me, I with love pursue, 
Who loving follows me, I thankless flee; 
To him who spurns my love I bend the 
knee, 
His love who seeks me, cold I bid him rue; 
I find as diamond him I yearning woo, 
Myself a diamond when he yearns for me; 
Who slays my love I would victorious see, 
While slaying him who wills me blisses true. 
To favor this one is to lose desire, 
To crave that one, my virgin pride to tame; 
On either hand I face a prospect dire, 
Whatever path I tread, the goal the same: 
To be adored by him of whom I tire, 
Or else by him who scorns me brought to 
shame. 
—FPeter H. Goldsmith, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


360 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


ARRAIGNMENT OF THE MEN 


Males perverse, schooled to condemn 
Women by your witless laws, 
Though forsooth you are prime cause 

Of that which you blame in them: 


If with unexampled care 

You solicit their disdain, 

Will your fair words ease their pain, 
When you ruthless set the snare? 


Their resistance you impugn, 
Then maintain with gravity 
That it was mere levity 

Made you dare to importune. 


What more elevating sight 

Than of man with logic crass, 

Who with hot breath fogs the glass, 
Then laments it is not bright! 


Scorn and favor, favor, scorn, 

What you will, result the same, 

Treat you ill, andearn your blame, 
Love you well, be left forlorn. 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


INES DE LA CRUZ 361 


Scant regard will she possess 
Who with caution wends her way,— 
Is held thankless for her ‘‘nay,’”’ 
And as wanton for her ‘‘yes.” 


What must be the rare caprice 

Of the quarry you engage: 
_ If she flees, she wakes your rage, 
If she yields, her charms surcease. 


Who shall bear the heavier blame, 
When remorse the twain enthralls, 
She, who for the asking, falls, 

He who, asking, brings to shame? 


Whose the guilt, where to begin, 
Though both yield to passion’s sway, 
She who weakly sins for pay, 

He who, strong, yet pays for sin? 


Then why stare ye, if we prove 
That the guilt lies at your gate? 
Either love those you create, 

Or create those you can love. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


| 


ee 


362 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


To solicitation truce,— 
Then, sire, with some show of right 
You may mock the hapless plight 
Or the creatures of your use! 
—Peter H. Goldsmith. 


TO HER PORTRAIT 


This that you see, the false presentment 
planned 
With finest art and all the colored shows 
And reasonings of shade, doth but disclose 
The poor deceits by earthly senses fanned! 
Here where in constant flattery expand 
Excuses for the stains that old age knows, 
Pretexts against the years’ advancing 
snows, 
The footprints of old seasons to withstand; 


’Tis but vain artifice of scheming minds; 
’Tis but a flower fading on the winds; 

’Tis but a useless protest against Fate; 
’Tis but stupidity without a thought, 

A lifeless shadow, if we meditate; 
’Tis death, ’tis dust, ’tis shadow, yea, ’tis 

nought. 
—Roderick Gill. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


SOR GREGORIA FRANCISCA 


SISTER GREGORIA FRANCISCA 
(1653-1736) 


ENVYING A LITTLE BIRD 


SISTER GREGORIA FRANCISCA was born, Gre- 
goria Francisca Queynoghe, at Sanltcar de 
Barrameda, the daughter of wealthy parents 
half Spanish, half Flemish. At an early age 
she entered the convent and in 1669 became 
a professed nun of the Order of Carmelites 
founded by Saint Teresa in Seville She rose 
to great eminence in her Order and left some 
precious mystical poetry to be found in the 
Vida exemplar, etc. de la V. Madre Gregoria 
Francisca de Santa Teresa de Jesus, by Diego 
de Torres Villaroel (Salamanca). Her Poesias 
were published by A. de Latour (Paris, 
1865). See also Discurso sobre Sor Gregoria 
Francisca by Santiago Montoto (Seville, 


1913). 


Envying a little bird 
His flight to heaven my heart is stirred, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


364 


HISPANIC AN WepO@ Gree - 


So hardy is the wing he finds 

To breast the bluster of the winds, 

So lightly pulsing doth he fare, 
Enamored of the sunset there— 

And swaying ever higher, higher, 

He mounts unto the realms of fire! 
Would I were with thee in thy flight, 
Fair plaything of the breeze tonight, 
And from thy heart such impulse know 
As spreads thy steadfast pinions so! 

I follow with a lover’s sighs 

Impatient, where thou cleav’st the skies, 
Feeling my body’s prison bars 
Withhold my spirit from the stars. 

For of the Sun supreme am I 

A love-delirious butterfly; 

By tender dawns I sip,—but claim 
The blossom of His noontide flame. 

O little bird, my dismal cell 

Reflects His sunlit splendors well— 
His glorious beauties are for me 

But shadowed in my misery! 

In envy of thy boundless flight 

But one desire can requite 

My heart,—a salamander’s soul 

To brave His flames without control!— 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


SOR GREGORIA FRANCISCA | 365 


Thy flight is joyous, little bird. 
While I in prison am interred; 

But seeing thee my soul is raised 
Unto the skies thou seek’st amazed; 
A lover and a captive bound 
Am I amid my darkness found; | 
Would that some mighty power would rend| 
My chains and my harsh durance end! 

O what a flight would then be mine, 
Could I this shackle-weight resign! | 
With what warm impulse of the skies | 
My wing against thine own would rise! 
Unto thy heart yon crimson tryst 

Of sunset glory hath sufficed; 

Thy spirit glad and free of care 

Doth to its golden lattice fare; 

But I who, knowing, love and pine 
For Him that is the Sphere Divine, 

Of griefs my only wings can make, 
And flights alone on sighings take! | 
In His immensity of light 

I fall into annulling blight; 

In the vast clearness of His sphere 
My feeble senses disappear. 

His brilliance bids my wings expand 
To rapid flight unto His hand,— 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


366 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


But, oh, my nature’s heavy bond 
Denies me freedom for beyond! 

Do thou, faic bird, on tireless wing 
Beyond the heavenly archway spring, 
And breasting higher, higher, bear 
This message of my fond despair; 
Unto that Light and Sun to show 

How love doth wound me here below; 
Within the inaccessible sky 

To say how of my love I die, : 
Since through my light of faith alone 
His radiant beauteousness is known; 
To say, the more His splendor shows 
The more my dismal blindness grows; 
And yet I glory in the dark’ 

His steps in passing by me mark; 

To say I wait the joyous hour 

When He shall break the mortal power 
That holds me prisoned here so long, 
And loose me for the wingéd throng, 
To say His rays through chink and bar 
But only added torments are;— 

That all the more His lights display 
The more my wounds and burns by day; 
That all the noons are full of Him, 
Filling joy’s goblets to the brim,— 


TV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


SOR GREGORIA FRANCISCA 


That all my soul is in decline, 
Beholding thus His glory shine! 
Little bird, if thou of love 

Ever the sweet pain didst prove, 
Pity take upon my woes 


And mourn o’er what my breasts disclose. 


Speak to my sweet Lord on high, 

| That He may grant me liberty, 

And lending thy fair wings the while 

That I may seek His distant isle, 

And from this prison dire be gone, 

From this captivity whereon 

So many a tear and groan I shed 

Unto my dark and exiled bed; 

Where gazing on thy happy flight 

I realize my bitter plight,— 

And love the more impatient glows 

As brighter its far object shows! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


368 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


JOSE IGLESIAS DE LA CASA 
(1748-1791) 


SONG 


José IGLESIAS DE LA CASA was a native of 
Salamanca who became a priest, and who 
indulged in satires of local abuses, and in 
purely lyrical compositions. His Poesias 
were published in Paris in 1821. 


Alexis calls me cruel; 
The rifted crags that hold 
The gathered ice of winter, 
He says are not more cold. — 


When even the very blossoms 
Around the fountain’s brim, 

And forest-walks can witness 
The love I bear to him. 


I would that I could utter 
My feelings without shame, 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


IGLESIAS DE LA CASA | 369 


And tell him how I love him 
| Nor wrong my virgin fame. 


Alas! to seize the moment 
When heart inclines to heart, 

And press a suit with passion, 
Is not a woman’s part. 


if man come not to gather 
The roses where they stand, 
They fade among their foliage; 
They cannot seek his hand. 
—William Cullen Bryant. 


ee | 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


370 |HISPANIC AN TROY: 


TOMAS DE IRIARTE 
(1750-1791) 


THE ASS AND THE FLUTE 


TomAs DE IRIARTE was born at Orotava on 
the Island of Teneriffe. His death occurred 
at Madrid, where he had achieved great 
distinction with his La m#sica in 1779 and 
his Fdbulas literarias in 1782. See Iriarte y 
su época by E. Cotarelo y Mori (Madrid, 


1897). 


This little fable heard, 
It good or ill may be; 

But it has just occurred 
Thus accidentally. 


Passing my abode, 
Some fields adjoining me 
A big ass on his road 
Came accidentally. 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


TOMAS DE IRIARTE 371 


And laid upon the spot, 
A Flute he chanced to see, 
Some shepherd had forgot 


There accidentally. 


The animal in front 
To scan it nigh came he, 
And snuffing loud as wont, 
Blew accidentally. 


The air it chanced around 
The pipe went passing free 

And thus the Flute a sound 
Gave accidentally. 


“O then,” exclaimed the Ass, 
“T know to play it fine; | 
And who for bad shall class 
This music asinine?” 


Without the rules of art, 
' Even asses, we agree, 
May once succeed in part, 
Thus accidentally. 
—James Kennedy. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


372 


IV 


HISPANTLC ANDEOPGEY-: 


JUAN MELENDEZ VALDEZ 
(1754-1817) 


ODA 


Juan MELENDEZ VALDEZ was born at Ribera 
del Fresno, became a professor at Salamanca, 
and was patronized by Jovellanos. He is 
considered the leader of the Salamancan 
Gallic school; in the War of Independence he 
sided with the French, fleeing later to France 
where he died in dishonor. His Poesias were 
published at Madrid in 1785; and his Life, 
written by Quintana, may be found with his 
poems, in the edition of 1820. His poems 
are also to be found in the Biblioteca de 
autores espanoles (vol. xix). 


When first a gentle kiss 
Upon Nisé I pressed, 
Paradise-grain and cassia 
Her lovely breath confessed. 
And on her smiling lips 
Such luscious sweets I found 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JUAN MELENDEZ VALDEZ 


As never knew the hills 

Or bees of Hybla’s ground. 

To purify its balm 

With love’s essential dews, 

A thousand and a thousand times 

Each day her lips I choose; 

Until the sum and total 

Of all our score amount 

To kisses more than Venus 

Did from Adonis count. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


374 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


LEANDRO FERNANDEZ DE 
MORATIN 
(1760-1826) 


ODE: THE DAY AT HOME 


LEANDRO FERNANDEZ DE Morarin, a son of 
the poet Nicolas Fernandez de Moratin, was 
born at Madrid. He became involved in the 
revolutionary movements of his time, and 
spent his later years at Bordeaux in the 
circle of Goya. His dramas won complete 
success for the French school inaugurated by 
Luzan.. His Obras were published at Madrid 
in 1830, and poems by his father and himself 
may be found in the Bzblioteca de autores 
espanoles (vol. xi). 


Was there ever such a mess! 
Just when I stay at home, 
To find that such a press 
Of visitors must come! 
Boy,—go bar the door; 

My neighbor now prepares 


HISPANIC NOTES 


From the patnting by Goya 
Leandro Fernandez de Moratin 


With all her tribe and more 
To climb my private stairs! 
What then?—You cannot close— 
The guests are now too near? 
Dojia Tecla and all those 

Girls of hers I hear! 

A coach has stopped below, 

I hear it at the door. 

’Tis Don Venancio 

Who comes—that famous bore! 
Then too comes in Don Luke 
With stately twists and bows; 
Don Mauro with his hook 

Out for mitres for his brows; 
Don Génaro, Don Zoile 

And Dojfa Basilissas 

And all their nurseries vile 

Of masters and of misses! 

What stupid compliments, 

What speeches they are aping! 
Be Mount Torozos bent 

To shield me in escaping! 

And now they settle down 

(And seats are not enough!) 

To nibble cakes and drown 

Their thirst with sticky stuff. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FERNANDEZ DE MORATIN 


378 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


The Devil!—I, who lead 

A solitary life, 

A bachelor, indeed, 

Without a child or wife; 

I who of wedded bliss 

Resigned the calm delight,— 

Must I give way to this 

Invading insect blight? 

And must I too submit 

To this uproar and gabble, 

And here in patience sit 

Amid this endless rabble!— 

But see, they all arise 

And leave me in a hurry!— 

Each fan, each bonnet flies; 

And hats and hoop skirts scurry !—- 

Acknowledgments and thanks 

For this your cordial visit— 

Obliged—but should your ranks 

Return,—I’ll dodge and miss it!— 

So they have peeped their measure,— 

And they have had a chance— 

Now if it be their pleasure 

Let them go out and dance! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IV 


HISPANICENG@Es 


MANUEL JOSEQUINTANA 


MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA 
(1772-1856) 


ODE TO SPAIN—AFTER THE REVOLU- 
TION OF MARCH 


MANUEL José QUINTANA was born at Mad- 
rid. He became in declared opposition to 
the French domination in Spain. On the 
return of Ferdinand VII to power, he was 
imprisoned for six years, dying poor after 
holding many offices under the Liberal 
Government. He and his friend Gallego 
submitted, however, to all the French rules 
of composition, and he produced odes of great 
power on patriotic subjects. His best edition 
of Obras is that of Madrid, 1897. He is 
also represented in the Bzblioteca de autores 
espamioles (vol. xix). 


What nation, tell me, in the older day 

Proclaimed its destiny across the world, 

Through all the climes extending its broad 
sway 


379 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


380 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


From east to west with golden pomp un- 
furled? 

Where from the sunset the Atlantic swept 

Its glorious fortunes—there was mighty 
Spain !— 

America and Asia’s confines kept 

And Africa’s upon its boundary main. 

The hardy sail upon its fickle course 

In vain would ’scape the reaches of its 
power; 

All earth for mineral riches was its source, 

All ocean was its pearls’ and corals’ bower. 

Nor where the tempests raged the most 

Met they on any but a Spanish coast. 

Now to the depths of shame reduced, 

Abandoned to the alien eye of scorn, 

Like some poor slave unto the market used 

To the vile whip and shackle basely 
borne!— 

What desolation, God!—The plague re- 
spires 

Its deadly breath of poison on the air 

And Hunger scarce with feeble arms aspires 

For a poor morsel there! 

Thrice did the temple gates of Janus ope 

And on Mars’ trumpet was a mighty blast! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MANUEL JOSE QUINTANA| 381 | 


glance of hope 
The tutelary gods have passed, 
And on the sea and land have left us cast! 
Throughout thy spreading realms what hast 
thou seen, 
O Spain?—but bitter mourning spread, 
Sorrow and misery between 
Thy fruits of slavery full harvested? 
Thus the sail rends, the hulk is smashed, 
And broken goes the bark upon its way; 
With every wave a torment it is lashed; 
Its prows no more their garlands old dis- 
play. 
Nor sign of hope nor of content appears; 
Its standard floats no more upon the air. 
The voyager’s song is broken by his tears; 
The mariner’s voice is hushed by weight 
of care, 
And dread of death comes ever on his heart, 
A dread of death in silence; there apart 
He drifts where the destroying shoals 
prepare. 
!Then the fell moment! Reaching forth 
|  hishand 
The Tyrant threatening the west, exclaims: 


ies but oh see, where even without a 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


382 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


“Behold, thou now art mine, O Western 
Land!”’ 

His brow with barbarous lightning flames, 

As from the cloud the summer tempest 
brings 

The horror spreading bolt’s appalling wings. 

His warriors afar 

Fill the great winds with pzans ot their war; 

The anvils groan, the hammers tall, 

The forges blaze. O shame, and dost thou 
dream 

To make their swords their toil, and that is 
all? 

See’st thou not where within their fiery 
gleams 

’Tis chains and bars and shackles they 
prepare 

To bind the arms that lie so limp and bare? 

Yea, let Spain tremble at the sound, 

And let her outraged ire 

From the volcano of her bosom bound, 

High justice for its fire, 

And ’gainst her despots turn, 

Where in their dread they hide, 

And let the echoes learn 

And all the banks of Tagus wide 


HISPANIC’ NOTES 


MANUELJOSEQUINTANA 


Hear the great sound of rage outcried,— 

“Vengeance!’’—Where, sacred river, where 

The titans who with pride and wrong 

Opposed our weal so long? 

Their glories are no more, while ours 
prepare; 

And thou so fierce and proud 

Seeing Castile and thy Castilians there 

Urgest thy ruddy waves in seaward pour, 

Crying aloud:—“The tyrants are no 
more!” = 

Triumph! and glory! O celestial time! 

Would that my tongue might speak our 
country’s name 

Unto the very winds sublime! 

Gladly would I—but not on harp of gold— 

My song acclaim; not in the prison hold 

Where the inspired breast 

Grows weak and cold, 

With breathless lips opprest. 

Old Tyrteus’ lyre untomb, 

In the bright sun and the uplifting wind 

Of pineclad, rocky Fuenfria’s bloom! 

High be my flight consigned 

To noble singing that shall rouse the plain 

And wake Castilians to the sound again 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Of glory and of war combined! 

War, awful name and now sublime! 

The refuge and the sacred shield in time 

To stay the savage Attila’s advance 

With fiery steed and lance!— 

War! War! O Spaniards, on the shore 

Of Guadalquivir, see arise once more 

Thy Ferdinand the Third’s imposing 
brows! 

See great Gonzalo o’er Granada rear! 

Behold the Cid with sword in mad carouse! 

And o’er the Pyrenees the form appear 

Of brave Bernardo, old Jimena’s son! 

See how their stormy wraiths are interspun! 

How valor breathes from out their hollow 
tombs 

Where ‘“‘War” upon the mighty echoes 
booms! 

And then! Canst thou with face serene 

Behold the fertile plains 

Where endless greed would glean 

Our heritage and gains, 

And to destruction cast? Awake, 

O hero-race, the moment is at hand 

When victory thou must take— 

Our glory owning thine more grand,— 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MANUELJOSEQUINTANA 


Thy name a higher place than ours to 
take !— 

It was no little day they raised 

Nor vain—the altar of our fathers grand; 

Swear then to keep its praise; 

Swear,—*‘ Rather death than tyrants in the 
land!””— 

Yea, I do swear it, Venerable Shades, 

And with the vow mine arm is stronger 
grown. 

Give me the lance, tie on my helm and 
blades, 

And to my vengeance bid me swift be gone! 

Let him despairing bow his coward head 

To dust and shame! Perchance the 
mighty flood 

Of devastation on its course shall spread 

And bear me on? What matter? One 
can shed 

But once his mortal blood! 

Shall I not go to meet 

Our mighty ones upon the field of old? 

“Hail, warrior forefathers!’ there to greet 

Their mighty ‘‘Hail.”” Where hero-Spain 

Amid the horror and the carnage cold 

Lifts up her bleeding head again, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


386 
And turns anew from her unhappy reign, 
A Victress, her reconquered lands to 
sign 
With golden sceptre and device divine! 
—Thomas Walsh. 
IV HISPANIC NOTES 
ees ia 


JOSE MARIA BLANCO 


JOSE MARIA BLANCO 
(1775-1841) | 


NIGHT 


José Maria Bianco was born of English 
parents at Seville where he became Canon of 
the cathedral. Succumbing to religious 
doubts, he resigned his ecclesiastical post 
and retired to England where he joined nearly 
every religious organization in search of 
peace of mind. Cardinal Newman bears 
testimony to the excellence of his moral 
character. He wrote both in Spanish and 
English, but he lives in literature chiefly 
through his beautiful sonnet in English 
entitled Night. See Menéndez y Pelayo’s 
Historia de los heterodoxos en Espana, Ill, 
lib. vii; and The Life of Rev. J. B. White 
(London, 1845). 


Mysterious Night! when our first parent 
knew 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


387 


IV 


388 


| 


HISPANIC /ANDRORGGY: 


Thee, from report divine, and heard thy| 
name, 
Did he not tremble for this lovely 
frame,— 
This glorious canopy of light and blue? 
Yet ’neath a curtain of translucent dew, 
Bathed in the rays of the great setting 
flame, 
Hesperus, with the host of heaven came, 
And lo! creation widened in man’s view. 


Who could have thought such darkness 


lay concealed 
Within thy beams, O sun! or who could 
find, 
Whilst fly and leaf and insect stood re- 
vealed, 
That to such countless orbs thou mad’st 
us blind! 
Why do we then shun death with anxious 
strife? 
If light can thus deceive, wherefore not 
life? 


—Anonymous. 


IV 


HISPANIC /NO@ES 


ANDRES BELLO 


ANDRES BELLO 
(1781-1865) 


DIALOGUE 


ANDRES BELLO, a Venezuelan poet and pa- 
triot was long considered the most important 
figure in South American letters. His Obras 
completas appeared at Santiago de Chile in 
1881-1885; see also the work of M. L. Amu- 
nategui (Santiago de Chile, 1882). 


Tircis 
How I should love thee, Cloris, but— 
C1rorIs 
But why ?— 
TIRCIS 
And wouldst thou have me tell thee?— 
CLorIs 
And why not? 
TrircIs 


It might annoy thee.— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


390 


HISPANIC AN@P@HOLOGY: 


CLorIs 
What, annoyed! Not I!— 
Tircis 
Then I shall tell thee— 
CrorIs 
Quick—reveal the plot!— 
Tircis 
Fain would I love thee, Cloris, but I knew— 
Croris 
What knewst thou, Tircis?— 
Tircis 
That on Sunday last 
Thou didst vow to love another lad that 
passed— 
And never change— 
CLorIs 
My vows I will renew!— 
—Thomas Walsh. 


- 


THE AGRICULTURE OF THE TORRID 
ZONE 


Hail to thee, fertile zone,— 

Where the enamored sun in daily round 

Enfolds thee, where beneath thy kisses 
shows 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ANDRES BELLO 


All that each various climate grows, 
.|Brought forth from out thy ground!— 

In spring thou bindst her garlands of the 
ears 

Of richest corn; thou giv’st the grape 

Unto the sopping cask; no form nor 

shape 

Of purple, red or yellow flower appears 

Unknown to thy soft bowers; 

The odors of thy thousand flowers 

The wind’s delight afford; 

Across thy pasture sward 

The countless flocks go grazing from the 
plain, 

Whose only boundary the horizon sets, 

Unto the surging mountains, where 

Lifting the snows into the inaccessible air 

They hold their parapets. 

Thou givest, too, the beauty of the cane 

Where honey sweet is stored 

That leaves the beehive in disdain; 

Thou in thy coral urns bring’st forth the 
bean 

Which soon in chocolate in the cup is 
poured; 

With blaze of scarlet are thy nopals seen | 


| AND MONOGRAPHS | Iv | 
| 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Such as the Tyrian sea-shell never knew; 

Thy plant of indigo such hues afford 

As ne’er from out the sapphire’s heart 
looked through. 

Thine is the wine the piercéd agave stores 

To glad Anahuac’s joyous sons; and thine 

The fragrant leaf whose gentle steaming 
pours 

With solace when their hearts aweary pine. 

Thy jasmines clothe the Arab brush, 

Whose perfumes rare the savage rage 
refine ¢ 

And cool the Bacchic flush; 

And for the children of thy land 

The stately palm-tree’s fronds are far 
displayed . 

And the ambrosial pineapple’s shade. 

The yucca-tree holds forth its snowy 
breads; 

And ruddy glow the broad potato beds; 

The cotton bush to greet the lightest airs 

Its rose of gold and snowy fleece prepares. 


Within thy hands the passiflower blooms 
In branches of far-showing green; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ANDRES BELLO 


And thy sarmentum’s twining fronds afford| 

Nectarean globes and stripéd flowers’ 
perfumes. 

For thee the maize, the haughty lord 

Of all thy ripened harvests, high is seen; 

For thee the rich banana’s heavy tree 

Displays its sweetest store— 

The proud banana, richest treasury 

That Providence in bounteousness could 
pour 

With gracious hand on Ecuador! 

It asks no human culture for its aid, 

Ere its first fruits are displayed, 

Nor with the pruning-knife nor plough it 
shares 

The honorable harvest that it bears. 

Not even the slightest care it needs 

Of pious hands about it shed, 

And to its ripeness so it speeds 

That hardly is it harvested, 

Ere a new crop is ripened in its stead. 


Oh, youngest of the nations, lift your brow 
Crowned with new laurels in the marveling 
West! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


393 


IV 


394 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Give honor to the fields, the simple life 
endow, 

And hold the plains and modest farmer 
blest! 

So that among you evermore shall reign 

Fair Liberty enshrined, 

Ambition modified, and Law composed, 

Thy people’s paths immortal there to find 

Not fickle nor in vain!— 

So emulous Time shall see disclosed 

New generations and new names of might, 

Blazing in highest light 

Beside your heroes old! 

“These are my sons! Behold!’’— 

(You shall declare amain)— 

“Sons of the fathers who did climb 

The Andes’ peaks in years agone,— 

Of those who great Boyaca’s sands upon,— 

In Maipu and in Junin sublime,— 

On Apurima’s glorious plain, 

Did triumph o’er the lion of old Spain!” 

Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA! 395 


| 
FRANCISCO MARTINEZ DE LA ROSA| 
(1787-1862) | 
| 


ANACREONTIC 


Francisco MarTiNEZ DE LA Rosa is princi- 

pally known as a dramatist and statesman. 
He was among the first to introduce romanti- | 
cism into Spanish literature. An edition of his 
Poesias liricas was published at Paris in 1847. 


Let thunder burst, | 
Pour out and drink the wine! 

Thou never saw’st a thunderbolt 
Strike the tender vine. 


Vesuvius himself 
To Bacchus tribute pays, 

And spares the vineyard flourishing 

Where his lava sways. 


In Italy in vain 
I hero sought or sage; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


396 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Mine eyes but dusty ruins found, 
Mouldering with age. 


Of Rome the image scarce 
Remains to be portrayed; 

A tomb is Herculaneum, 
Pompeii is a shade. 


But I found Falernum, 
His nectar rich remained, 
And in memory of Horace 
A bottleful I drained. 
—James Kennedy. 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


ANGEL DE SAAVEDRA 


ANGEL DE SAAVEDRA 
(1791-1865) 


TO THE LIGHTHOUSE ON MALTA 


ANGEL DE SAAVEDRA, Duke de Rivas, was a 
native of Cordoba, whose work marks the 
triumph of romanticism in Spain. He spent 
ten years in exile in France, England, and 
Italy after his participation in the War of 
Independence. He returned to hold high 
offices of state in Spain and died at Madrid. 
He is principally known as a dramatist; his 
works were published at Madrid in 1894- 
1904. 


Black night enswathes the mighty world; 
The hurricane and cloud confuse 

With piling shadows measureless 

The sky, the sea, the land; 

But thou, invisible, lift’st up thy head, 
Wearing thy faithful crown of light, 

Like some old king of Chaos in the glow 
That shines for peace and life. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


398 


HIS PANIC* ANT HOLGiGA - 


IV 


In vain the sea hurls up its peaks 

And shrinks to nought beneath thy feet, 

Seeking amid its seething foam 

The refuge of the port. 

Thou with thy tongue of flame declare’st: 

“Here, stand we!’’—voiceless, to the pilot 
who 

With pious eyes upon thee hails thy light 

As his divinity.— 

Or night is calm, against its royal robe 

The gentle zephyr rustling on its gold and 
stars 

Whereon the moon rolls forth! 

Then thou, in filmy vapor clothed, 

Showest thy mighty beauty forth, 

And lift’st thy diadem among the stars. 

The sea lies tranquil, and the hiding rocks 

And treacherous shoals beneath their 
shifting gleam 

Call to the passing ships; 

But thou, whose splendor overcomes 

All else,—but thou upon thy sturdy 
throne,— 

Thou art the star to warn them of the 
snare. 

Thus Reason’s torch amid the raging flames} 

re 


Mata  ij— NOTES 


ANGEL DE SAAVEDRA 399 


Of Passion or of Flattery’s soft whine, 

Before the straight gaze of the soul! 

Down from the airy refuge of thy reign 

So calm, O rescue me from angry Fate, 

And grant thy peaceful hospitality | 

Unto my troubled soul! 

Often and often with my cares I’ve come 

To thee for sweet oblivion in thine arms, 

Bowing before thee, lifting up mine eyes 

To thy resplendent brows! 

How often, ah! from off the raging seas 

I’ve turned again to thee! With all in 
absence long 

From spouse and sons,— 

With all the fugitives, the poor, the 
scourged, 

That seek asylum here afar where thou 

Dost speak with light of welcoming! 

Thou art the guiding star to nightly sails 

That bear me from afar the news of wrongs | 

' |In letters writ of tears; 

When first mine eyes beheld thee shine 

Oh, how my breast upheaved with hopes 

And happy omens! 

From Latium’s inhospitable shores 

An exile coming tossed by sea and wind, | 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


From out the shoals I first beheld 

That signaling divine; 

The mariners too beholding it on high 

Forgetting all their cares and frightened 
vows 

Amid the stormy darkness, murmured 
fond: j 

“Malta! Malta! We are there!”— 

Thou wast the aureole that enshrines 

A holy image that the pilgrim seeks 

Afar for healing comfort !— 

Never shall I forget thee, nevermore! 

Thy splendor now would I alone ex- 
change,— 

Thou unforgettable bright king of night, 

Beneficent pure flame— 

For that fair light and those refulgent 
stars 

That shine reflected in the morning sun 

From off the gold Archangel on the dome 

Of Cordoba’s sweet tower!— 

—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC: NOTES 


BRETON DE LOS HERREROS 


MANUEL BRETON DE LOS 
HERREROS 
(1796-1873) 

SATIRICAL LETRILLA 


MANUEL BRETON DE LOS HERREROS was a 
prolific author of the romantic period of the 
Spanish stage. His Poesias appeared at 
Madrid in 1883. See also Breton de los Her- 
reros by the Marqués de Molins (Madrid, 
1883). 


Whene’er Don Juan has a feast at home 
I am forgotten as if at Rome; 

But he will for funerals me invite, 

To kill me with the annoyance quite; 
Well, be it so! 

Cceleste, with a thousand coy excuses 
Will sing the song that set she chooses, 
And all about her that environ, 
Though like an owl, call her a siren; 
Well, be it so! 

A hundred bees, without reposing, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


401 


— 


HISPANIC ANTHOROGGY-: 


IV 


Work their sweet combs, with skill com- 
posing; 
Alas! for an idle drone they strive, 
Who soon will come to destroy the hive; 
Well, be it so! 
Man to his like moves furious war, 
As if he were too numerous far; 
Alone the medical squadrons wait 
The world itself to depopulate; 
Well, be it so! 
There are of usurers heaps in Spain , 
Of catchpoles, hucksterers, heaps again, 
And of vintners too, yet people still 
Talk about robbers in the hill; 
Well, be it so! 
In vain may the poor, O Conde, try 
Thy door, for the dog makes sole reply; 
And yet to spend thou hast extollers, 
Over a ball two thousand dollars; 
Well, be it so! 
Enough to-day, my pen, this preaching; 
A better time we wait for teaching; 
If vices in vain I try to brand, 
And find I only write on sand, 
Well, be it so! 
—James Kennedy. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


José Maria de Heredia 


oso. 


JOSE MARIA HEREDIA] 405 


JOSE MARIA HEREDIA 
(1803-1839) 


ODE TO NIAGARA | 


José Maria HereEpIA was born at Santiago 
de Cuba, whence he was exiled in 1823 for 
his participation in political conspiracies. He 
retired to the United States and, later, took 
up the practice of law in Mexico. He died| 
at Toluca. There was an edition of Ea 
Obras published at New York in 1875. A) 
convenient edition of his poems is that of E 
Zerolo (Paris, 1893). 


| 
My lyre! Give me my lyre! My bosom 


finds 
The glow of inspiration. Oh, how long 
Have I been left in darkness, since this 
light 
Last visited my brow! Niagara! 
Thou with thy rushing waters dost- restore! 
The heavenly gift that sorrow took away. 


HISPANIC NOTES | IV | 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Tremendous torrent! for an instant hush 

The terrors of thy voice, and cast aside 

Those wide-involving shadows, that my 
eyes 

May see the fearful beauty of thy face! 

IT am not all unworthy of thy sight, 

For from my very boyhood have I loved, 

Shunning the meaner track of common 
minds, 

To look on Nature in her loftier moods. 

t the fierce rushing of the hurricane, 

At the near bursting of the thunderbolt, 

I have been touched with joy; and when the 
sea 

Lashed by the wind hath rocked my bark, 
and showed 

Its yawning caves beneath me, I have loved 

Its dangers and the wrath of elements. 

But never yet the madness of the sea 

Hath moved me as thy grandeur moves 
me now. 

Thou flowest on in quiet, till thy waves 

Grow broken ’midst the rocks; thy current 
then 

Shoots onward like the irresistible course 

Of Destiny. Ah, terribly they rage,— 


HISPANIC. NOTES 


JOSE MARIA HEREDIA 


The hoarse and rapid whirlpools there! My 
brain 

Grows wild, my senses wander, as I gaze 

Upon the hurrying waters, and my sight 

Vainly would follow, as toward the verge 

Sweeps the wide torrent. Waves innumer- 
able 


Meet there and madden,—waves innumer-_ 
able 
Urge on and overtake the waves before, 
And disappear in thunder and in foam. 
They reach, they leap,—the abyss 
Swallows insatiable the sinking waves. 
A thousand rainbows arch them, and the 
woods 
Are deafened with the roar. The violent| 
shock 
Shatters to vapor the descending sheets. 
A cloudy whirlwind fills the gulf, and| 
heaves 
The mighty pyramid of circling mist 
To heaven. The solitary hunter near 
Pauses with terror in the forest shades. 
What seeks thy restless eye? Why are, 
not here, | 
About the jaws of this abyss, the palms— | 


407 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


| 408 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Ah, ‘the delicious palms—that on the 
plains 

Of my own native Cuba spring and spread 

Their thickly foliaged summits to the sun, 

And ia the breathings of the ocean air, 

Wave soft beneath the heaven’s unspotted 
blue? 

But no, Niagara,—thy forest pines 

Are fitter coronal for thee. The palm, 

The effeminate myrtle and frail rose may 


grow 

In gardens, and give out their fragrance 
there, 

Unmanning him who breathes it. Thine 
itis 


To do a nobler office. Generous minds 
Behold thee, and are moved, and learn to 


rise 
Above earth’s frivolous pleasures; they 
partake 
'Thy grandeur, at the utterance of thy 
name. 


|God of all truth! in other lands I’ve seen 
| Lying philosophers, blaspheming men, 
Questioners of thy mysteries, that draw 
Their fellows deep into impiety; 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE MARIA HEREDIA 


And therefore doth my spirit seek thy face 

In earth’s majestic solitudes. Even here 

My heart doth open all itself to thee. 

In this immensity of loneliness 

I feel thy hand upon me. To my ear 

The eternal thunder of the cataract brings 

Thy voice, and I am humbled as I hear. 

Dread torrent, that with wonder and with 
fear 

Dost overwhelm the soul of him that looks 

Upon thee, and dost bear it from itself,— 

Whence hast thou thy beginning? Who 
supplies, 

Age after age, thy unexhausted springs? 

What power hath ordered, that when all 
thy weight 

Descends into the deep, the swollen waves 

Rise not and roll to overwhelm the earth? 

he Lord has opened his omnipotent hand, 

Covered thy face with clouds, and given 
voice 

To thy down-rushing waters; he hath girt 

Thy terrible forehead with his radiant bow. 

I see thy never-resting waters run 

And I bethink me how the tide of Time 

Sweeps by eternity. So pass, of man,— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


409 


IV 


410 


HISPANIC ANTHOVOGY: 


Pass, like a noonday dream—the blossom- 
ing days, 

And he awakes to sorrow. I, alas!— 

Feel that my youth is withered, and my 
brow 

Ploughed early with the lines of grief and 
care. 

Never have I so deeply felt as now 

The hopeless solitude, the abandonment, 

The anguish of a loveless life. Alas! 

How can the impassioned, the unfrozen 
heart 

Be happy without love? I would that one 

Beautiful, worthy to be loved and joined 

In love with me, now shared my lonely 
walk 

On this tremendous brink. ’*Twere sweet 
to see 

Her sweet face touched with paleness, and 
become 

More beautiful from fear, and overspread 

With a faint smile, while clinging to my 
side. 

Dreams,—dreams! I am an exile, and for 
me 

There is no country and there is no love. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE MARIA HEREDIA 


Hear, dread Niagara, my latest voice! 

Yet a few years, and the cold earth shall 
close 

Over the bones of him who sings thee now 

Thus feelingly. Would that this, my hum- 
ble verse, 

Might be, like thee, immortal! I, mean- 
while, 

Cheerfully passing to the appointed rest, 

Might raise my radiant forehead in the 
clouds 

To listen to the echoes of my fame. 

—William Cullen Bryant. 


THE HURRICANE 


Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh, 

I know thy breath in the burning sky! 

And I wait, with a thrill in every vein, 

For the coming of the hurricane! 

And lo! on the wind of the heavy gales 

Through the boundless arch of the heaven 
he sails; 

Silent and slow, and terribly strong, 

The mighty shadow is borne along, 

Like the dark eternity to come; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


4II 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


While the world below, dismayed and 
dumb, 

Through the calm of the thick hot atmos- 
phere, 

Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear. 

They darken fast; and the golden blaze 

Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze, 

And he sends through the shade a funeral 
ray— 

A glare that is neither night nor day, 

A beam that touches, with hues of death, 

The clouds above and the earth beneath. 

To its covert glides the silent bird 

While the hurricane’s distant voice is 
heard 

Uplifted among the mountains round, 

And the forests hear and answer the 
sound. 


He iscome! Heiscome! Do ye not behold 

His ample robes on the wind unrolled! 

Giant of the air! we bid thee hail!— 

How his gray skirts toss in the whirling 
gale; 

How his huge and writhing arms are bent 

To clasp the zone of the firmament, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE MARIA HEREDIA 


And fold at length in their dark embrace, 

From mountain to mountain the visible 
space. 

Darker—still darker! the whirlwinds bear 

The dust of the plains to the middle air. 

And hark to the crashing, long and loud, 

Of the chariot of God in the thunder- 
cloud! 

You may trace its path by the flashes that 
start 

From the rapid wheels where’er they dart, 

As the fire-bolts leap to the world below, 

And flood the skies with a lurid glow. 

What roar is that?-—’Tis the rain that 
breaks 

In torrents away from the airy lakes, 

Heavily poured on the shuddering ground 

And shedding a nameless horror round. 


Ah, well-known woods, and mountains, and 
skies, 

With the very clouds!—ye are lost to my 
eyes. 

I seek ye vainly, and see in your place 

The shadowy tempest that sweeps through 
space, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


413 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHGEGGe- 


A whirling ocean that fills the wall 

Of the crystal heavens, and buries all, 

And I, cut off from the world, remain 

Alone with the terrible hurricane. 
—William Cullen Bryant. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FELIPE PARDO 


FELIPE PARDO 
(1806-1886) 


OUR SOVEREIGN KING 


Felipe Pardo was a Peruvian dramatist, all of 
whose work may be found in the Poesias y 
escritos en prosa de Don Felipe Pardo (Paris, 


1869). 
A bit of topsy-turvy artifice 


Goes wandering like a monarch beta 
our streets, 
A whiskey-soaked, be-daggered king that| 
meets 
To riot for whatever cause there is; 
A wayward autocrat, whose services 
To earth seem but the deadly plagues he 


As nailed the Saviour to that cross of His. | 


A sultan whom no bond of law restrains, 
From whose injustice there is no appeal;| 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


heats; | 
A potentate of such ignoble feats | 


416 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


A king anoint with Satan’s sulphur stains, 
A red and white and black-faced Czar, 
whose heel 
America, our continent, profanes,— 
And called ‘‘The Sovereign People’”’”— 
for his pains. 


—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


| 
JUAN HARTZENBUSCH | 


JUAN EUGENIO HARTZENBUSCH 
(1806-1880) 


TO CALDERON 


Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch was a romantic 
dramatist known principally as the author of 
Los Amantes de Teruel. His Poesias may be 
found in the Coleccién de escritores castellanos, 
vol. I. (Madrid, 1887). 


Thou who, in accent of disdain profound, 

Beholding man in all his littleness, 

Declared: “Life is a shade, a dream, no 
less 

For all the fantasy in living found!” 

When shone thy luminous star o’er Spanish 
ground, 

O Sun refulgent of our Stage, confess, 

Did any doubt of genius e’er oppress 

Thy mind of its own inspiration’s bound? 

From Tiber unto Manzanares, lo, 

From Rhine to Andes, universal shrines 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


417 


418 |HISPANIC ANPEROPGee. 


And homage to your masterpieces, show; 
Thy name to such eternity has grown, 
That it should teach thee to amend thy 
lines: 
‘““All is a dream, except my fame alone.” 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


IV 


sé de Espronceda 


Jo 


JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA 


JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA 
(1808-1842) 


THE BEGGAR 


Jos& pE ESPRONCEDA was born at Pajares 
de la Vega, and educated at Madrid, whence, 
having engaged in political conspiracies, he 
was obliged to flee, going to Lisbon and thence 
to Paris. He returned in 1833 as a journal- 
ist and playwright and represented Almeria 
in the Cortes. He died at Madrid. Many 
have considered him the leading Spanish poet 
of the nineteenth century, but it seems as 
though the current of criticism had set against 
him in later years. In his revolutionary and 
moral protestations he bore certain resem- 
blances to Lord Byron, but it is not altogether 
fair to call him an imitator of the British poet. 
His Obras poéticas appeared at Madrid in 1884. 
See also Espronceda, su tiempo, su vida y sus 
obras by E. Rodriguez Solis (Madrid, 1883). 


The world is mine; I am free as air; 
Let others work that I may eat; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


421 


IV 


422 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


All shall melt at my piteous prayer:— 
“An alms, for God’s sake, I entreat.” 


The cabin, the palace, 

Are my resort ; 

If the threat of the thunder 
Shall break from the mountain, 
Or the torrent’s quick fountain 
Shall drive me under, : 

Within their shelter: 

The shepherds make place, 
Lovingly asking me 

Food to grace; 

Or by the rich hearthstone 

I take my ease 

Fanned by the odors 

Of burning trees; 

With the luscious banquet 
And cushioned store, 

Upon the couch 

Of some proud sefor. 


And I say to myself:— 
“Let the breezes blow 
And the tempest rage 


HIS PANIC WNOG@Es 


JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA| 423 


In the world without: 

Let the branches crack 

Where the high winds go, 

As I slumber with nothing to trouble about. 
The world is mine; I am free as air!” 


All are my patrons, 
And for all I ask 

My God as I daily pray; : 
From peasant and noble 
I get my pay, 

And I take their favors 
Both great and small. 

I never ask them 

Who they be, 

Nor stop to task them 
With thanks for fee. 

If they desire 

To give me alms, 

’Tis but their duty 

To tip my palms. 

Their wealth is sinful 
They must see; 

And a holy state 

Is my poverty, 

And he is a miser 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


HISPANIC ANTHRGUGex 


Who would deny 
An alms, and a beggar 
Blest am I. 


For I am poor and they grieve to note 
How I groan beneath my pain; 

They never see that their wealth is a mine 
Where I my treasures gain. 

The world is mine; I am free as air! 


A rebel and a discontent 

Amid my rags am J; 

To satirise their ease I’m sent 
And with a sour-set eye 

I boldly stare at the potentate 
Who dares to pass me in his state. 


The lovely maid 

Of a thousand scents 

In her joy arrayed 

With her love-locks blent— 
’Tis she I follow 

Till she turns around, 

And my evil smells 

Her sense astound. 

At the feasts and spreads 
My voice is heard 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA| 425 


And they bow their heads 
At my merest word. 
Their joy and revel 

I come to stay, 

At the sight of my rags 
And my voice’s brags 
Their music dies away. 
Showing how near 

Dwell pain and joy; 

No joy without tear 

No pain sans glad alloy. 
The world is mine; I am free as air! 


For me no morrow 
Nor yesterday; 

I forget the sorrow 
And the welladay. 
There’s nought to trouble 
Or weary me here,— 
It’s a palace tomorrow 
Or a hospital’s cheer. 

I live a stranger 

To thoughts of care; 
Let others seek glory 
Or riches rare! 

My one concern 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Is to pass today; 

Let the laws prevail 
Where the monarchs sway! 
For I am a beggar 

And a poor man proud; 
’Tis through fear of me 
There are alms allowed. 


A soft asylum 

Where’er it be, 

And a hospital bed 

Will be ready for me; 
And a cosy ditch 

Where my bones shall lie 
Will cover me over 
When I die. 


The world is mine; I am free as air; 
Let others work that I may eat! 
All hearts must melt at my piteous prayer:— 
“An alms, for God’s sake, I entreat!” 
—Thomas Walsh. 


CANCION OF THE PIRATE 


The breeze fair aft, all sails on high, 
Ten guns on each side mounted seen, 


TV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA 


She does not cut the sea, but fly, 
A swiftly sailing brigantine; 
A pirate bark, the ‘‘ Dreaded” named, 
For her surpassing boldness famed, 
On every sea well-known and shore, 
From side to side their boundaries o’er. 
The moon in streaks the waves illumes 
Hoarse groans the wind the rigging| 
through; 
In gentle motion raised assumes 
The sea a silvery shade with blue; 
Whilst singing gaily on the poop 
The pirate Captain, in a group, 
Sees Europe here, there Asia lies, 
And Stamboul in the front arise. 


“Sail on, my swift one! nothing fear; 
Nor calm, nor storm, nor foeman’s force, | 
Shall make thee yield in thy career 
Or turn thee from thy course. 
Despite the English cruisers fleet 
We have full twenty prizes made; 
And see their flags beneath my feet 
A hundred nations laid. 
My treasure is my gallant bark, 
My only God ts liberty; 


‘AND MONOGRAPHS 


427 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


My law is might, the wind my mark, 
My country 1s the sea. 


“There blindly kings fierce wars main- 
tain, 
For palms of land, when here I hold 
‘As mine, whose power no laws restrain, 
Whate’er the seas infold. 
Nor is there shore around whate’er, 
Or banner proud, but of my might 
Is taught the valorous proofs to bear, 
And made to feel my right. 
My treasure is my gallant bark, 
My only God is liberty; 
My law is might, the wind my mark, 
My country is the sea. 


“Look when a ship our signals ring, 
Full sail to fly how quick she’s veered! 
For of the sea I am the king, 
My fury’s to be feared; 
But equally with all I share 
Whate’er the wealth we take supplies; 
I only seek the matchless fair, 
My portion of the prize. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE DE ESPRONCEDA|! 429 


My treasure is my gallant bark, 
My only God is liberty; 

My law is might, the wind my mark, 
My country ts the sea. 


“T am condemned to die !—I laugh; 
For, if my fates are kindly sped, 
My doomer from his own ship’s staff 
Perhaps I’ll hang instead. 
And if I fall, why what is life? 
For lost I gave it then as due, 
When from slavery’s yoke in strife 
A rover! I withdrew. 

My treasure is my gallant bark; 
My only God is liberty; 

My law is might, the wind my mark, 
My country is the sea. 


““My music is the Northwind’s roar; 
The noise when round the cable runs, 

The bellowings of the Black Sea’s shore, | 
And rolling of my guns. | 

And as the thunders loudly sound, 
And furious the tempests rave, 

I calmly rest in sleep profound, 
So rocked upon the wave. 


| 
SEE ee Peas 
AND MONOGRAPHS | IV 


430 


HISPANTC VAN THOLOG YY: 


IV 


My treasure is my gallant bark, 
My only God is liberty; 
My law is might, the wind my mark, 
My country is the sea.” 
—James Kennedy. 


HISPANIC NOTES: 


PLACIDO 


GABRIEL DE LA CONCEPCION 
VALDEZ 
(1809-1844) 


PRAYER TO GOD 


GABRIEL DE LA CONCEPCION VALDEz (Placido) 
was the son of a Spanish dancer and a mulatto 
hair-dresser in Cuba, who was reared in the 
asylum from which he takes his name. He 
developed a great love for liberty, and with 
the education which he managed to obtain, 
he followed a roving literary career until he 
was accused of taking part in a negro con- 
spiracy. He is said to have recited the 
“Prayer to God”’ on his way to his execution. 
His Poestas were published at Palma de 
Mallorca in 1847. 


O God of love unbounded! Lord supreme! 
In overwhelming grief to thee I fly. 

Rending this veil of hateful calumny, 

Oh, let thine arms of might my fame redeem! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Thou King of Kings, my fathers’ God and 
mine, ; 

Thou only art my sure and strong defence. 

The polar snows, the tropic fires intense, 

The shaded sea, the air, the light are 
thine; 

The life of leaves, the water’s changeful 
tide, 

All things are thine, and by thy will abide. 


Thou art all power; all life from thee goes 
forth, 

And fails or flows obedient to thy breath; 

Without thee all is nought; in endless death 

All nature sinks forlorn and nothing worth. 

Yet even the Void obeys thee; and from 
nought } 

By thy dread word the living man was 
wrought. 


Merciful God! Howshould I thee deceive? 

Let thy eternal wisdom search my soul! 

Bowed down to earth by falsehood’s base 
control, 

Her stainless wings not now the air may 

cleave. 


HISPANIC UNOTES 


PLACIDO 433 


Send forth thine hosts of truth and set her| 
free! 
Stay thou, O Lord, the oppressor’s victory!) 


Forbid it, Lord, by that most free out-| 
= g | 
Of thine own precious blood for every| 
brother 
Of our lost race, and by thy Holy Mother, 
So full of grief, so loving, so adoring, ! 
Who clothed in sorrow followed thee afar, 
Weeping thy death like a declining star. 


But if this lot thy love ordains to me, 
To yield to foes most cruel and unjust, 
To die and leave my poor and senseless dust | 
The scoff and sport of their weak enmity; 
Speak thou, and then thy purposes fulfill; 
Lord of my life, work thou thy perfect will. 


—Anonymous. 


AND MONOGRAPHS | IV 


434 


HISPANIG AwaRO Loa, 


GERTRUDIS GOMEZ DE 
AVELLANEDA 
(1814-1873) 


TO HIM 


GERTRUDIS GOMEZ DE AVELLANEDA was born 
at Camagtiey, Cuba. Early in lifeshe removed 
to Spain, where in 1841 she published her 
poems. She was twice married, dying at 
Madrid. She holds a high place among the 
novelists and dramatists of modern Spain; 
her early influences were of the French school 
but in her later work she reveals native 
Spanish influences. Her Obras literarias 
appeared at Madrid in 1869. 


No bonds withhold,—for all that held are 
broken; 
So heaven ordained,—and blesséd be its 
name! 
The bitter chalice I have drained in token, 
And now is peace with nothing more to 
claim. 


IV 


HISPANIC; NOTES 


GOMEZ DE AVELLANEDA 


I loved thee—but no more—not even in 
fancy; 
Never, if I have erred, the truth be said; 
O’er all the dreary years in necromancy 
I throw forgetfulness,—my heart is fed. 


Thou hast made riot there with breast 
unsparing, 
Struck down my pride beneath thy blows 
insane, 
But never turned my lips reproaches bear- 
ing 
To bring a charge against thy tyrant 
reign. 


Of weighty faults, a scourge in venging 
hour 
Thou fill’dst thy mission here—Ah, knowst 
it not?— 
Not thine was all the irresistible power 
Which left my forces conquered and 
forgot. 


*Twas God I sought,—unto His name be 


glory !— 
For all is over; I regain my breath. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Angel of Vengeance! Man, it was thy 
story; 

I see and fear thee not, nor seek thy 
death! 


Thy sceptre faller and thy sword-blade} 
rusted, 
Alas!—is this the liberty I gain?-— 

I made a world of thee, in thee I trusted,— 
Now life around me is an empty plain. 
Be happy thou! If thou shouldst e’er 

discover 
This poor adieu that I address to thee,— 
Know that the breast wherein thou once 
wert lover 
Holds pardon for thee and sweet charity. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


6 ee 


From a print in the Hispanic Society of America 


José Zorilla 


JOSE ZORILLA 


JOSE ZORILLA 
(1817-1893) 
THE SPRINGLET 


José ZorRILLA was born at Valladolid. Early 
in life he achieved reputation as a poet of 
high lyrical gifts. He emigrated to Mexico 
but returned after the execution of Maxi- 
milian, was granted a small pension, and died 
in comparative poverty at Madrid. He is 
still one of the most popular dramatists of 
the Spanish stage. His Obras dramdticas y 
liricas appeared at Madrid in 1895. An 
edition of his Poesias escogidas was published 
by the Academia de la Lengua (Madrid, 
1894). 


Hasting on, the springlet flows, 
Licking up its dark brown bed; 

More and more its crystal grows 
As its course is sped. 

Stirs the grasses, moists the sand, 
Plays a thousand tricks a day; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


440 |HISPANIC ANTROBOGY: 


Wave on wave its face is fanned 
With laughter light and gay. 
Couch of down it lends the vale; 
Cool its fan the birch-trees find; 
Reeds its quiet pathway trail 
To rest and shade resigned. 
Bursts it on the open sky! 
What was all its running for, 
If beneath the cliff it die 
Engulfed forevermore? 
—Thomas Walsh. 


THE BULL AND THE PICADOR 


Pawing the earth, and snorting in his 
rage ; 
The Bull is tossing up the torrid sand; 
The while the horseman’s eye serene 
and bland 
Seeks out a point for his red lance to gauge. 
Steadied to take the charge, the fight to 
wage, 
The picador holds his impatient stand; 
His face, for all its blackness, whiter 
fanned 
To anger as the bull obstructs the stage. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE ZORILLA 


He hesitates; the Spaniard jeers at him; 
He shakes his hornéd front; he tears the 
earth, 
Heaving great breaths and straining every! 
limb; 
The taunter urges him to prove his! 
worth; 
Sudden he charges, fails, and bellows grim, 
His shoulder bleeding, the great crowd in| 
mirth! 


—Thomas Walsh. 


TOLEDO 


No more the jousts and tourneys, 

No more the Moorish songs, 

No more dark battlements with throngs 
Of hidden Moslem blades; 
Today without their lattices, 
Their terraces and glades, | 
No dance, no fair sultana 
Glads with the old pavana 
Her Sultan’s garden shades. 


No more the golden chambers 
In the palaces of kings; 


AND MONOGRAPHS | 


IV 


442 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Nor hidden halls of pleasurings 
Of Orient devise; 

Nor are there dark-eyed women 
On the velvet couches lain, 
Where the Faithful may obtain 
Their hint of Paradise. 


No more the eastern songbirds 
In their cages made of gold 

Fill the air as once of old 

With the color of their songs; 
While within his bath reclining, 
Half-asleep, with odors shining, 
Dreams of love their lord enfold. 


No more an age of pleasure 

Like the Moorish days gone by; 
Age no rival can supply, 

Two alike could hardly be; 

But beneath the Gothic spire 

Of the Christian temple hangs 

A great bell whose mighty clangs 
Speak of God in verity. iT 


There’s today a temple standing 
On its hundred Gothic piles; 


IV 


HISPANIC ‘NOTES 


JOSE ZORILLA 


Crosses, altars in its aisles, 

And a creed of holiness; 

There’s a people bending low, 
Lifting unto God its prayer 

In the light that’s burning there 
For the faith their hearts confess! 


There’s a God the winds have heard 
Mid the foldings of the blast; 
-The earth trembles at His word, 
_ And the future mocks the past. 
The mere cipher of His name 
On the sinful hearts of men, 
Was adored of old the same 
Through the Arab darkness then. 


—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


[egal : 


444 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


RAMON DE CAMPOAMOR 
(1817-1891) 


TWO MIRRORS 


RaMON DE CAMPOAMOR was born at Navia. 
He prepared to join the clergy, but changed 
his mind, becoming a physician and, later, 
devoting himself exclusively to poetry and 
politics. He died at Madrid, where his 
Obras completas were published in 1901. 


into my mirror’s glass I gaze 
At forty years of age, 

And find myself so worn with days 
I break the glass in rage. 


And then I turn my gaze and peer 
Across my mirrored soul; 

And see within my conscience clear 
My woes beyond control. 


The loss of faith, of love, of youth— 
I see my mortal curse !— 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


From the painting by Sala in the Hispanic Society of 
America 


Ramén de Campoamor 


RAMON CAMPOAMOR 


Within my mirror—evil truth; 
And in my conscience—worse! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IF I COULD ONLY WRITE 
I 
Please, Sefior Cura, write a line for me— 
I know for whom; and so you needn’t 
tell. 
You know, because of that dark night when 
he 
And I encountered you together.—Well! 


Excuse us but—I did not find it strange; 
It was the night,—a chance for everyone. 
Hand me the pen and paper. Thanks. 
Arrange 
Yourself while I begin—‘My dear 
Ramén”— 


My dear?—You have it down in black and 
white?>— 
But not if you object!—Yes, yes, I 
vow !— 
“How sad I am”—Does that not put it 
right ?— 


HISPANIC NOTES 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


It does. ‘“‘How sad I am without you 
now |” 


“There is an anguish gnawing in my 
heart”’— 
How do you know the sorrow that I 
feel? 
To an old man a maiden’s secrets part 
And show as though a crystal did reveal! 


“What is this world without you 2—Vale of 
tears | 
And at your side ?—An earthly Paradise !” 
Be sure the writing there so clear appears 
’Twill reach, good sefior Cura, to his 
eyes! i 


“The kiss I gave you when you went 
away” — 
But come, who then has told you all you 
know?— 
When one arrives, or leaves or makes his 
stay, 
Together—no offence—’tis always so. 


“‘ And if your love delays you from my sight 
You do not know the sorrow it will cost!” 


HISPANIC NOTES 


RAMON CAMPOAMOR 


Sorrow?—no more?—No, Sefior Cura, 
write, 
With pain my very life will soon be lost! 


Your life—and know you not you mock at 
heaven?— 

Yes, yes, alas, Sefior,—this life of mine!— 

I shall not write it —Man be untorgiven,— 

If I could only write, myself and sign!— 


2 


O Seftor Cura, Sefior Cura,—vainly 
Will all your efforts to oblige me prove, 
If in your writing you will not state plainly 
All that I feel and all the power of love! 


For God’s sake, write him that my very 
spirit 
Can hardly in my mortal body keep, 
That every day new sorrows I inherit, 
That I can nothing do but sigh and 
weep!— — 


That my poor lips, whereon his breath 
found roses 
I nowadays can hardly open more; 


+79 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


450 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


That they forget to smile, so pain opposes 
The joy my heart was cherishing of 
yore; 


That my poor eyes, that once he found so 
tender, 
Are clouded over with such weight of 
pain, 
That as they find no other eyes to render 
Their loving glance they always close 
again; ; 


That of the many griefs with which I 
languish, 
His absence is the very worst of all— 
That in my ears there sounds the ceaseless 
anguish 
Of echoes that his voice in vain recall. 


And such my state because of him, with 
blighting 
My soul is falling into grief’s decline; 
My God!—the things my pen would be 
inditing, 
If I could only write, myself, and 
sign! 


HISPANIC: NOTES 


RAMON CAMPOAMOR 


EPILOGUE 


That’s fine!—Leave it to love!—Now the 
addressing, 
““To Don Ramén’’—Ah, me, how such a 
call 
Shows me the uselessness of my professing 
To know my Greek, and Latin, after all! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


TRADITIONS 


I marked a cross upon a lonely spot 


One day when in the country I took air; 
A passer told me—“‘A base robber shot 
And killed a soldier there.” 


O false tradition !—once again I passed 
The site upon that lonely plain; 
Another stranger told me, as the last— 
“A robber here was by a soldier slain.’ 
—Thomas Walsh. 


? 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


451 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


JOSE EUSEBIO CARO 
(1817-1853) 


ON THE LIPS OF THE LAST OF THE 
INCAS 


José EusEepio Caro was a native of the 
Republic of New Granada, now Colombia, 
who, together with a fellow-poet José Joaquin 
Ortiz, founded the first literary journal of his 
country La Estrella Nacional in 1836. He 
was a man of lofty political ideals and a poet 
of advanced thought and practice. 


Today arriving on Pichincha’s slope, 

The deadly cannon of the whites I flee, 

Like the sun a wanderer, like the sun 
aflame, 

Like the sun free. 


O Sun, my Father, hearken! Manco’s 


throne H 
Lies in the dust; Thy altar’s sanctity 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE EUSEBIO CARO 


Profaned; exalting thee alone I pray, 
Alone but free. 


O Sun, my Father, hearken! A slave 
before 

The nations of the world I’ll not agree 

To bear the mark. Toslay myself I come, 

To die though free. 


Today Thou wilt perceive me, when afar 
Thou dost begin to sink into the sea, 
Singing Thy hymns on the volcano’s top, 
Singing and free. 


Tomorrow though, alas! when once again 

Thy crown throughout the east will shining 
be, 

Its golden splendor on my tomb will fall, 

My tomb though free. 


Upon my tomb the condor will descend 
From heaven, the condor, bird of liberty, 
And building there its nest, will hatch its 
young, 
Unknown and free 
—Alfred Coester. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


454 


IV 


HISPANIC JAN TROLGeyY: 


PABLO PIFERRER Y FABREGAS 
(1818-1848) 


CANCION OF SPRING 


PABLO PIFERRER Y FABREGAS was born and 
died at Barcelona, He devoted a large part 
of his life to the cultivation of musical ap- 
preciation among the Catalonians. He pub- 
lished a volume of Poesias. 


Here the springtime comes again,— 

Wake the bagpipe—dance around— 
Spreading o’er the hill and plain 

Her green mantle—Hope is found! 
There is sighing of the breeze,— 

Wake the bagpipe—dance around— 
And the cloud that swiftly flees 

Shows the blue vault—Hope is found! 
From its blossom laughs the flower,— 

Wake the bagpipe—dance around— 


HISPANIC NOTES 


PIFERRER Y FABREGAS| 455 


And the murmur of its power 
Shows the streamlet—Hope is found! | 


Blue-birds’ trill is on the air,— 

Wake the bagpipe—dance around— 
Open to the swallow, there 

He comes winging—Hope is found! 
Sweetheart, little sweetheart mine,— 

Wake the bagpipe—dance around— 
May is stealing through the vine, 

With her promise—Hope is found! 
Love is over all the land— 

Wake the bagpipe—dance around— 
To its breath our hearts expand, 

Where it rises—Hope is found! 
All the world is budding green,— 

Wake the bagpipe—dance around— 
And the budding leaves between, 

Crops are growing—Hope is found! | 
Murmur, odor, color grow— 

Wake the bagpipe—dance around— 
Into hymns of love to show 

What is stirring—Hope is found! 
Soon the lightsome spring will die,— 

Wake the bagpipe—dance around— 
Every year the meadows nigh 
Change her mantle—Hope is found! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


456 


HISPANIC AN Sieereey: 


Dear old days of innocence— 
Hush the bagpipe—dance no more— 
Lost, they never re-commence,— 
Lost are mine—and Hope is o’er!— 
—Roderick Gill. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


RAFAEL DE MENDIVE 


RAFAEL MARIA DE MENDIVE 
(1821-1886) 


A VIRGIN’S SMILE 


RAFAEL MARiA DE MENDIVE, a native of Cuba, 
published in 1847 a volume entitled Pasio- 
narias which secured him a lasting hold upon 
appreciation at homeand abroad. Hetraveled 
extensively, returned to Cuba, and founded a 
literary Revista de Habana which did impor- 
tant service to letters. He was exiled from the 
island in 1868, taking refuge in New York, 
where he remained until the general amnesty 
permitted him to return. He was greatly 
admired by the poet Longfellow. 


Purer than the early breeze, 

Or the faint perfume of flowers, 

Maiden! through thine angel hours 
Pass the thoughts of love; 

Purer than the tender thought 

On the morning’s gentle face, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


457 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTR@LEOGG?,: 


On thy lips of maiden grace 
Plays thy virgin smile. 


Like a bird’s thy rapture is, 
Angel eyes thine eyes enlighten, 
On thy gracious forehead brighten 
Flashes from above; 
Flower-like thy breathings are, 
Free thy dreams from sinful strife, 
And the sunlight of thy life 
Is thy virgin smile. 


Loose thou never, gentle child, 
Thy spring garland from thy brow. 
Through life’s flowery fields, as now, 
Wander careless still 
Sweetly sing and gaily run, 
Drinking in the morning air, 
Free and happy everywhere, 
With thy virgin smile! 


Love and pleasure are but pains, 

Bitter grief and miseries, 

Withered leaves, which every breeze 
Tosses at its will; 

Live thou purely with thy joy, 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


RAFAEL DE MENDIVE 


With thy wonder and thy peace, 
Blessing life till life shall cease, 
With thy virgin smile. 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


_THE BROOK 


Laugh of the mountain!—lyre of bird and. 
tree! 
Pomp of the meadow! Mirror of the| 
morn! 

The soul of April, unto whom are born 
The rose and jessamine, leaps wild in thee! 
Although where’er thy devious current 


strays 
The lap of earth with gold and silver| 
teems, 
To me thy clear proceeding brighter 
seems 
Than golden sands, that charm _ each| 
shepherd’s gaze. 


How without guile thy bosom, all trans- 
parent 

As the pure crystal, lets the curious eye 

Thy secrets scan, thy smooth, round 

pebbles count! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


460 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


IV 


How, without malice murmuring, glides 
thy current! 
O sweet simplicity of days gone by! 
Thou shun’st the haunts of man, to 
dwell in limpid fount! 
—H. W. Longfellow. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ANTONIO DE TRUEBA| 461 


ANTONIO DE TRUEBA 
(1823-1889) 


CANTABRIA 


ANTONIO DE TRUEBA, a poet of the Basque 
provinces, won popularity through his pic. 
tures of the life of his own people and his 
owntime. His Libro de los cantares appeared 
at Madrid in 1852. 


Ancient groves from hardy days, 

Sweeping rivers, fountains clear, 
Breezes from high mountain ways, 

Little valleys green and dear; 
Houses white and turrets black, 

Seas that ever heave and tumble, 
Peace and joy in every track, 

Holy dews on foreheads humble,— 
This is what inspires my song, 

This is my Cantabria fair !— 
If you lose me, seek me long 

’Twixt Higuer and Finisterre. 

—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


462 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


NIGHTFALL 


The moon is soft arising 
Behind its lattice far, 
Serene the air surprising 
As where holy spirits are. 
Calm is the sea untroubled, 
And calm the azure skies. 
Lord,—when at peace of evening 
Our soul to seek Thee flies 
To tell to Thee our sorrows,— 
Oh, what despairing morrows, 
If nought to us replies!— 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IV HISPANIC |) NO@@as 


JOSE SELGAS CARRASCO| 463 


JOSE SELGAS Y CARRASCO 
(1824-1882) 


THE EMPTY CRADLE 


JosE SELGAS y CARRASCO was a native of 
Lorca who was prominent in Madrid as a. 
journalist and editor. He enjoyed a great 
reputation during his lifetime. His Obras 
were published at Madrid in 1882-1894. 


The angels bending | 
To kiss her brow, 

Sang unending— 
“Come with us now.” 


The child replying, 
The angels drew 

To her cradle lying :— 
“Tl go with you.” 


The angel faces 
’*Mid wings of gold, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


464 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Took her embraces 
Within their hold. 


| 
And with the breaking 
Of pallid day, 
The crib forsaking, 
They flew away. 
—Thomas Walsh. 
| 


HISPANIC NOTES 


RICARDO CARRASQUILLA 465 


RICARDO CARRASQUILLA 
(1827-1887) 


SPAIN AND AMERICA 


RiIcARDO CARRASQUILLA was born of an Anda- 
lusian family at Quibd6, Choc6, Colombia. He 
early in life made his home at Bogota, where 
he was closely identified with the develop- 
ment of Colombian culture. 


Her race, her language, laws and creed 
Spain on America bestowed; 
Full soon the younger country showed 
That she was of a ripened breed. 


With Liberty her one desire, 
Full soon the battle volleys roared, 
When great Bolivar drew the sword 
And rose triumphant o’er the fire. - 


And wherefore, valiant from the start, 
Hath Spain beheld her power decay?— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC) ANTHROL@ GY: 


Because herself hath taught the way 
Of conquest to the victor’s heart. : 


She gave her speech, she gave her blood, 
And all her old traditions gave; 
In her we glory with the brave; 
In her our needs are understood. 
—Roderick Gill. 


HISPANIC WWOTKS 


Meno RL DEL PALACIO 


MANUEL DEL PALACIO 
(1832-1906) 


SECRET LOVE 


MANUEL DEL PALacio was born at Lérida in 
Spain and received his education at Granada. 
He became very prominent in the literary 
circles of Madrid where he published many 
books of verse and prose. 


Ott the confession of my changeless love 
Your close-drawn lattice in the night 
must hear: 
The moon, befriending hearts bereft of 
cheer, 
Knows well my longing as she gleams above: 
| Your name is cooed to me by that wild dove 
Whose haunts I visit when the eve is 
near: 
At morn my madrigals glad-voiced and 
clear 
Fill with their ecstasy the hill and grove. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


467 


IV 


468 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Ta you alone my secret reaches never, 
Howe’er my heartbeat strives to tell the 
tale 
Unbidden, ardent in a dear endeavor. 
Perchance for all time shall its message 
fail, 
As falls unheard where Ocean throbs forever 
The rill’s faint call that tinkles down the 
vale. 
—Joseph I. C. Clarke. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


RICARDO PALMA 


RICARDO PALMA 
(1833-1920) 


SUN AND DUST 


Ricarpo PALMA is a native of Peru, who, 
banished from his country, produced in 1853 
at Paris a volume of poems entitled Armonias: 
Libro de un desterrado. It was peculiarly 
successful on account of the number of can- 
torcillos which anticipated the author’s best 
work among the traditions and history of 
Peru. This may be found in his Papeletas 
lexicograficas. His remarkable wit does not 
minimize the historical value of the material 
with which he deals. 


In a swift whirlwind rises to the sky 

A mighty cloud of dust, confused and dun; 

It covers with its wings the glowing disc 

Of the far-shining sun. 

It says with mockery,—‘Go upon your 
course!” 


AND 


MONOGRAPHS 


470 


HISPANIG ANG LV Gey: 


I have made dim your beams of topaz 
bright, 

King of the sphere, I have brought low 
your pride, 

I have obscured your light! 


The sun makes answer: ‘‘Soon the wind 
will fall 

You will become base mire, despised and 
dumb, 

While I light up the heavens and the 
earth,— 

Today,—and days to come!” 

So stupid envy, insolent and false, 

The laurel crown of genius fain would 
blight. 

It is foul dust: intelligence, the sun— 

Immortal is its light. 

—Alice Stone Blackwell. 


HISPANIC WOTES 


RAPAEL’ POMBO 


= 


RAFAEL POMBO 
(1833-1912) 


OUR MADONNA AT HOME 


RAFAEL POMBO, son of a family of mixed 
Irish and Spanish blood, was born at Bogota, 
Colombia. He took part in the political 
upheavals of 1854 and later came on diplo- 
matic service to the United States. Here his 
brilliance as a poet of romantic love came to 
its fullness. He returned to Bogotd where he 
passed his final yearsinhonor. Our Madonna 
at Home was written originally in English 
and was much admired by William Cullen 
Bryant. 


Couldst thou portray that face whose 
holy spell 
Still sheds its peace o’er all the loved at 
home? 
’Tis mine so long in other lands to roam 
That her smile only I remember well. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Hers at whose shrine, when sickness on me 
| fell 
In childhood, suppliant thou didst 
kneel, my mother, ? 
And I saw both smile, weep, embrace 
each other, 
And which the sweeter was I could not 
tell. 


When memory now in manhood would 
recall 
Her features who with thee doth share 
my heart, 
Her half-forgotten face seems like to 
thine; 
And both are still to me the source of all 
That’s best in me of poesy and art,— 
Nor either mother could my soul 
resign. 


AT NIAGARA 


Again I see thee!—once again I know 
Mine oldtime witchery as in years gone by, 
Titan of grace, white, fascinating, vast, 
Sultan of torrents, calm in matchless power; 


| IV HISPANIC NOTES 


RAFAEL POMBO 


Eternally the same, Niagara! 

Eternal in thine ecstasy, awake 

In thy tremendous sway,—unwearying 

Ever of thyself, as man untired 

Of gazing upon thee.—How couldst thou 
tire? 

Beauty, alive forever, acts and lives 

In purity and cannot fail!—O thou, 

The perfect daughter without human 
touch 

Of His high Fiat, that perpetuates 

The laws inviolable in their course,— 

Fond sister of the skies, the light, the air!— 

Guest unexpelled of Eden that we lost, 

Thy beauty is creation’s constant work, 

Transcending even its high Creator’s 
breath. 

Here, something tells us, here is God! 

Nectar of rapture, and of balm that sprang 

In times of old; today beholding thee 

There wake within our breast the seeds 
divine; 

The ardent soul to Nature’s wonder 
swells; 

The warming love of family grips the heart 

Eternal and indissoluble; thus 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


473 


IV 


| 
474 |HISPANIC ARWRGeecy: 


As to the sea the drop released from 
earth,— 

Thus for the mother’s breast the babe 
inclines,— 

Dumb in our intimate delight we turn 

To this communion with eternity. 

Can God grow weary?—Ah, in things that 
cloy 

There is a deadly, fatal principle, 

Inertia, the germ of death at war 

With God, the gangrene of a soul apart 

From His restoring floods—But where, O 
mind, 

Descendst thourp—O Niagara, recall, 

And in thy image let me see, the boast 

Of souls victorious, behold sublime 

The hero in his martyrdom, and gaze 

Upon the genius calm amid his powers! 

Delight me, soothe me, O museum vast 

Of cataracts, O foundry of the clouds! 

Osea, without a depth despite thy waves,— 

White colonnade some great Alcides reared 

From out Olympus, here between the twain 

Mediterranean oceans of the world! 

Live on, eccentric giant, to delight 

In solitary, immemorial mood 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


RAFAEL POMBO 


Of madness of the gods! Unchained fling 
forth 

Thine ocean floods along the sloping gorge, 

And lost in rapture, drunken with the joys 

Of thine own strength, mind not that man 
has marked 

Thy Titan play among the solitudes — 

No more than where the ant lifts up its 
head 

To join itself with thee—What difference? 

The earth cannot contain thee, in a burst 

Thou surgest on unto thine ocean couch! 


From the globe’s confines ultimate, men 
come 

To visit thee, to raise themselves on high 

With contemplation of thy matchless 

_ charms. 

A thousand tongues along thy banks 
acclaim 

In Thee the grandeur of their God, the boast 

Of nature’s purest triumph over all. 

Heredia came and paid his tribute here, 

Hailing Niagara in his soul, in dread 

More of himself than thee, for all thy 
floods! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC! AN @ierOGY: 


The Anglo-Saxon cyclops quick to prove 

Unto the world that he is lord of thee, 

Spans thy great gorges with his airy bridge, 

Embracing thee as with an iron hand, 

In sign that man (the insect of the hour, 

The dizzying hour!) proclaims his reign 
abroad! 

*Tis heaven herself laid down beneath thy 
feet 

These angel pillows colored for the spheres; 

And for one bridge, hers are a thousand 
round,- 

To art of man opposing that of heaven, 

Hangs tremulous here, as though the smile 
of peace 

Amid the heavy breathings about death, 

Her tranquil bow amidst the wild abyss! 


Sufficing glory is thy ceaseless spring 

Of beauties, thou art shrine perpetual 

Of man’s deep wonder. What can I for 
thee, 

Save but to add my little name to thine? 

I am the trifling shadow at the gates, 

A day to hover silent, a light breath 

In silence moving through thine icy mist— 


cee 


HISPANIC NOTES 


“RAFAEL POMBO 


If to the surge volcanic of thy breast 

The earth, thy trembling cradle, hears the 
wind 

Groan through its stony hollows in reply,— 

I know not, for my heart is hushed, nor 
stirs 

Within my soul the ardent flame of song. 

But what is this to thee, who, changelessly 

|Assert’st thy majesty and pomp,—while I 

In years of exile stand and weariness 

Of soul? Today I gaze on thee with eyes 

Of sadness, Amphitheatre divine!— 

Where ’mid thy gusts and mists eternal 
strifes 

Of crags and whirlpools rage. In me there 
stirs 

No combat; nay, thy presence, rather than 

Thy lofty beauty wakes my wonderment, 

Inspires prostration,—yea, and chills my 
soul! | 

This milky lake asleep beneath my feet, 

These curdling waves of emerald that cloak 

As in a mantle’s fold thy rocky bed 

Where floods are gasping—all unknowing) 
where 

Their destinies are urging; the dread pool 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


And maelstrom that awaits them where in 
power 

As of an angry sea they writhe and lift 

Their heads, like some lethargic boa, rolled 

In his majestic, noiseless coils and poised 

Magnetic for his dart; and so it is 

With me; such is the mortuary sea 

Of my existence, where the hidden plan 

Sweeps in the whirlpool, gulfing, drowning 
me. 


Whence, O Heredia, thy dread? I look 
And find it not. Not so unhappy thou 


Hadst thou known real fear. Thy hopes 

Grew pale and trembled here unto their 
death. 

Here over all rules desperation; here 

She lifts her craggy altars; from these deeps 

And Tartarous regions soars the mighty call 

Of demon voices to infernal bliss! 

No, Nature never overwhelms the soul 

With dread; her very worst is but a boon. 

Her very tomb is but a couch of rest. 

She is a child, forever innocent 

And candorous; a gentle nurse whom 
heaven 


HISPANIC (N@@EsS 


RAFAEL POMBO 


In goodness gave to man.— 
To man, the asp, 
The monster (O Heredia, how well 
Thou knewst!) whose contact is affright to 
me; 
The asp that poisons soul and body both; 
Satan eternal of our brothers’ lives, 
As well as of our own; disturber born 
Of every Paradise that Nature yields, 
Of every scene with ordered peace that 
brings 
His mind the memory of heaven, 
His wasted destiny! Mankind, the link 
Between the angel and the fiend, the foe 
Of all who would ascend the heavenly stair 
Toward the high model of Divinity !— 
Away, abortion!—Here is Nature, here! 
But at the sight of this vast, thunderous 
stream,— 
This splendid comet of the waterways— 
I would not seek its arms, like that light 
bow 
That trembles o’er its radiant gates,—nor 
yield 
My thoughts nor feelings!— 
Thou art so supreme, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


480 


HISPANIC AR ee 


Niagara, so irresistible 
Thy witchery and majesty combined, 
That hapless man, amid his little day, 
Can but adore thee; God grant happy death 
To him who vainly turns to thee to ease 
His overpowering woes!— 
O mother mine, 
Sweet martyr soul, thy pardon! ’Tis 
today 
At home, that once was happy, we make 
feast 
In honor of thy name. I now implore 
On high thy pardon. ’Tis no fault of 
thine 
That I should owe to thee my hapless life. 
Today once more canst save me; once again 
Through thy unfailing tenderness, thy son 
Revived anew, makes offering anew 
Of freshened vigor— 
Here, through custom old, 
Come first the wedded from their nuptial 
shrine; 
Here is their second nave and altar-place 
Of love; here are their seats beyond the 
world 
Within the Love-God’s arms of clemency. 


IV 


HISPANIC Wio@Gas 


RAFAEL POMBO 


Ah, may He bless them, casting on the surge 
The pure white jasmine blossom of their 
wreaths !— 
Rest, rest! chaste visioning! Unto the 
sound 

Niagara thy parent rocks thee, rest! 

Faithful shall be thy lullaby, O rest! 

Until across thy garlands come the voice 

Of the great requiem he chants for thee. 

Let thy soul take my blessing upon thee,— 

Keep it as benediction in thy heart; 

Blesséd because thou lov’st; more blesséd 
still 

When thou no more art woman, when thou 
die’st, 

And disappear’st and fallest to repose— 

My soul grows weary o’er thy silent 
grave!— 

Allis accomplished—all with perfectness, 

As God decrees; today the absent turns 

His way again to thee; again as one 

We stand together,—thou within thy tomb, 

Ah, dead, they say!—And I perchance, 
more dead 

Than thou—surviving mine own heart!— 
Peace! Peace! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


482 


IV | 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Let not my woes disturb thee in thy rest! 
Yet easier would it be, Niagara, 
To speak across the tumult of thy falls!— 


Thy waters seem like the beginning world 

That leaps from out the hand of the 
Divine, 

Inaugurating its eternal course 

Throughout the ether deeps! Thou art 
like heaven 

That bends upon the earth amid thy clouds 

Half-veiling here the majesty of God. 

Forever new and brilliant in thy sweep; 

Forever fertile, and magnificent, 

The vital spring of mother Nature’s 
breasts 

Shining with healthful savors,—thou dost 
show 

Thy grandeur in thy fall, and raisest high 

From thine abyss the hymn of praise and 
life. 

But oh! to me life is a sarcasm now; 

My world has finished, and my soul is 
dead; 

In my desire to sing speaks but the rime 

Of hate, or De profundis as of death. 


HISPANICAR@ as 


RAFAEL POMBO 483 


It is to lighten weary days, 
Niagara, my steps I hither press; 
To turn indifferent shoulders to thy ways, 
My brows immersed amid thine icy sprays, 
Rendering back to thee—forgetfulness. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


484 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


GASPAR NUNEZ DE ARCE 
(1834-1903) 
THE DELUGE 


GaspaR NUNEZ DE ARCE was born at 
Valladolid. After the restoration of the 
Bourbons, he served in the Liberal cabinets. 
Retiring through ill health some years before 
his death, he devoted himself to poetic and 
dramatic literature, obtaining great success 
in Spain and Spanish America. His Gritos 
del combate appeared in 1875; Un idilio in 
1879. There has been no complete collection 
published of his works. 


MISERERE 


It is midnight; the great dwelling 
Reared at Philip Second’s will 
The world’s wonderment to fill— 
All his mighty story telling, 

Lies in haughty shadows, spelling 


IV HISPANI@ NOTES 


unez de Arce 


Gaspar Esteban N 


GASPAR NUNEZ DE ARCE 


Out the history painfully 

Of his vanished majesty, 

Giving like some giant writhing 
’Neath the mountain, the last tithing 
That his ruined glories see. 

From the Guadarramas waking 

The chill winds have left their caves, 
Breasting on the architraves 

Of the shrine and ceaseless breaking. 
All the stars above are shaking 

With a red and sullen flame, 

And at times in sorrow’s name 
Speaks the echo-starting bell 

That lugubrious would tell 

That the convent prays the same. 
While the church morose and sombre 
Slumbers in its vast repose, 

In its icy silence close 

As a tomb the ages cumber; 

And the cresset lamps in umber 
With uncertain gleam afar 

Show the figures now that are 

Half advancing, half retreating, 
Mingling like the ghoct-forms meeting 
In a child’s or old man’s slumber. 
Sudden from the royal fosses 


iS PANIC? NOTES 


487 


IV 


| 488 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Stirs a rumor strange and clear, 

And an awesome form of fear 

Lifts above the dust and crosses. 
Charles the Fifth, the Czesar, tosses 
Back the clamping funeral stone, 
And with face all fleshless grown, 
Rises horrid from the mosses. 
Striking hard his bony forehead, 

As from lethargy so deep 

He would shake his mind from sleep 
And disperse his nightmare horrid. 
And he stared upon the florid 

Burial place so still and lone 

Where there towered his funeral stone. 
Forth he from the tomb advanced 
And took his stand and never glanced 
Where his ragged shroud was shown. 
“Hark ye!—” cried his warlike voice 
In the tone the whole world knew 
When the ancient ages threw — 

At his feet its trembling choice ;— 
“Throw back your sepulchre’s dark walls, 
Ye glories of Imperial days, 

Ye heroes of immortal rays, 

Ye flames of old-time glory, 

And from your places mortuary, 


IV HISPANIC Ra es 


GASPAR NUNEZ DE ARCE 


Come forth—’tis Cesar’s voice that 
calls!””— 

And answering the haughty word 

The very depths with rumor stirred, 

And from their marbles surged 

Spectres half unpurged; 

And the graves opened wide; 

And in a line dead kings began 

To file before him, each one wan 

And soiled with years, though every man 

Still wore his crown of pride. 

Grave, solemn, and remote 

Came Philip Second, from his wars 

Scourged, yet unbeaten, by his scars; 

His son beside him grim did float; 

And then the King, the all devout, 

His humbleness beyond a doubt, 

Who saw great Spain, the victim, torn 

Like some great granite mountain, scorn 

Of earthquakes, blotted out. 

Then came the monarch of the blight, 

Whose reign did shame employ 

All our grandeur to destroy, 

And shaking still with fever’s might— 

Oh, the dread conspiracy 

That the eye might still remark 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


490 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTROLGGY: 


*Twixt that monarch of the dark 

And his wasted monarchy !— 

With a terrible confusion 

Silently they herd along, 

Kings now dead who once were strong !— 
Teeming with the grave’s profusion. 
And the vanished embers start 
Gleaming in those brows’ dead part, 
Throwing uncertain lights upon 

Eyepits where the eyes are gone, . 

And empty skulls that grieve the heart. 
And following their monarchs after, 

In answer to the mighty call 

As though the very hours fall 

On Judgement Day, from floor to rafter, 
Thronging come Spain’s ancient glories, 
Through the cloistered corridors, 
Princes, Lords and Grand Sefiores, 
Prelates, friars, warriors, 

Favorites and counselors, 

Theologues and Inquisitors. 

Then with Charles’s mandate shaking 
From the scepter that he bore, 

To the organ tottered o’er 

A poor skeleton all quaking; 

Bony hands the keyboard waking 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GASPAR NUNEZ DE ARCE 


Stirred a torrent of accord 

Till the giant music poured 

Litanies and requiems making. 

And the voices all in one, 

From the dead a holy chant, 

At the shrine hierophant 

To their God and Maker ran. 

And the broken echoes, won 

From the victims of the tomb, 
Swelled and stirred the startled gloom, 
And to such a fervor rose 

That it seemed the very close 

Of a world whose days were done. 
““We were as the mighty stream 

Of a river that is dry; 

None the source can now espy; 

Dry and parched the channels gleam! 
Yea, O God, our little power 

Was extinguished in an hour— 
Miserere! 

Curséd, curséd the device, 

Portent over land and sea, 

That spreads the word of life so free 
And gives ideas wings of price, 

The printed words that all suffice 
And wound to death our Sovereignty.— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


492 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Miserere! 

Curséd be the wire that starts 

All lands and peoples into one, 

By which to prayers and hopes are spun 
All the world’s pulsating hearts. 
Nought in silence can be done; 

No injustice lurks or darts— 

Misererel 

Now no more each people thrives 

In solitary state alone; 

To chains of iron they have grown 

The bonds where human nature strives; 
No more are isolation’s gyves 

On liberty’s strong muscles thrown— 
Misererel 

A bitter and a brutal blow 

Delivered with unsparing hand 

Upon the shoulders of our band 

Of priest and king, they did bestow. 
And nought there is that we can know 
To heal the wound their rage has fanned— 
Miserere! 

And see, alas, how human pride 

Upon the heavens is placing hands! 

In arrogance the haughty lands 

Would even Thee, the Lord, deride! 


HISPANIC’ NOTES 


GASPAR NUNEZ DE ARCE| 493 


Let not their voice blaspheming guide 
To peace nor to contentment’s strands— 
Miserere! 

Yet not in hostile turmoil caught, 

Nor in their dismal pit of woe 

Let Thy world perish, ere it know 

That in itself its wrong was fraught. 
Unpitying they ceaseless brought 

Our death to us—they die also!— 
Miserere! 

O Life, thou great and mighty river 
That hurries onward to the main, 
Behold, our channels dust-heaps vain, 
Where once did rushing streams deliver! 
Let not the impious rule forever— 

Nor evil have an endless reign— 
Miserere!” 

Then suddenly the organ ceased 

Its mighty rumble, and the light 

Fell swiftly off the throng of blight, 
And all to darkness was released. 

While in a vast and solemn feast 

Of dread and tears the silence grew 

And from the eyeless skulls poured through 
A flood of weeping never ceased. 
Meanwhile the light was fading out 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


HISPANIC ANDROL OGY. 


Mysterious and vague, and all 

The rumors died along the wall, 

And the great vision shrank to doubt. 

With daylight breaking from without, 

The white procession paled away 

And through the scattering mists of day 

Came a far locomotive’s shout. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GUSTAVO BECQUER 


GUSTAVO ADOLFO BECQUER 
(1836-1870) ° 


“THEY CLOSED HER EYES” 


Gustavo Apo_ro BECQUER was born at 
Seville. As a student of painting, he began 
a poverty-stricken career at Madrid, where, 
after an unhappy marriage, he died. 

His Obras (Madrid, 1871) reveal a writer, 
who influenced greatly by Hoffmann and 
Heine, possessed one of the most original tal- 
ents in Spanish literature. He is sometimes 
considered the founder of the modern Spanish 
school of poetry. His works have passed 
through many editions. 


They closed her eyes 
That were still open; 
They hid her face 
With a white linen, 
And, some sobbing 
Others in silence, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


From the sad bedroom | 
All came away. 


The nightlight in a dish 
Burned on the floor; 

It threw on the wall 
The bed’s shadow, 

And in that shadow 
One saw sometime 
Drawn in sharp line 
The body’s shape. 


The dawn appeared. 

At its first whiteness 
With its thousand noises 
The town awoke. 

Before that contrast 

Of light and darkness, 
Of life and strangeness 

I thought a moment. 
My God, how lonely 

The dead are! 


On the shoulders of men 
To church they bore her, 
And in a chapel 

They left her bier. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


“GUSTAVO BECQUER 


There they surrounded 
Her pale body 

With yellow candles 
And black stuffs. 


At the last stroke 

Of the ringing for the Souls, 
An old crone finished 

Her last prayers. 

She crossed the narrow nave, 
The doors moaned, 

And the holy place 
Remained deserted. 


From a clock one heard 
The measured ticking, 

And from a candle 

The guttering. 

All things there 

Were so dark and mournful, 
So cold and rigid, 

That I thought a moment: 
My God, how lonely 

The dead are! 


From the high belfry 
The tongue of iron 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


498 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Clanged, giving out 

A last farewell. 

Crape on their clothes, 
Her friends and kindred 
Passed in a line 

In homage to her. 


In the last vault 

Dark and narrow, 

The pickaxe opened 

A niche at one end; 

They laid her away there. 

Soon they bricked the place up, 
And with a gesture 

Bade grief farewell. 


Pickaxe on shoulder 

The gravedigger, 

Singing between his teeth, 
Passed out of sight. 

The night came down, 

It was all silent. 

Alone in the darkness 

I thought a moment,— 
My God, how lonely 

The dead arel 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


GUSTAVO BECQUER 


In the dark nights 
Of bitter winter, 
When the wind makes 
The rafter creak, 
When the violent rain 
Lashes the windows, 
Lonely I remember 
That poor girl. 


There falls the rain 
With its noise eternal, 
There the northwind 
Fights with the rain. 
Stretched in the hollow 
Of the damp bricks, 
Perhaps her bones 
Freeze with the cold. 


Does the dust return to dust? 
Does the soul fly to heaven? 
Or is all vile matter, 
Rottenness, filthiness? 

I know not, but 
There is something—something— | 
Something which gives me | 
Loathing, terror,— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


To leave the dead 
So alone, so wretched. 
—John Masefield. 


THE WAITING HARP 


There in the dusky alcove of the room, 
Perchance forgotten by its owner now, 
Silent beneath its covering of dust, 
The harp was seen. 
How many a song was slumbering in its 
strings, 
As in some bird-breast sleeping on the 
boughs, 
Waiting the snowy hand whosemastertouch 
Shall waken it! 
Alas, methought—how often genius halts 
And drowses thus within the bosom’s 
depth, 
Hoping to hear a voice, like Lazarus, 
To say its message,— ‘Soul, ariseand walk!”’ 
—Thomas Walsh. 


SONG 


“T am a passion; I am a flame; 
I am a symbol of loves that go, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GUSTAVO BECQUER 


I am that desire which transcends shame— 
Is it I you seek?” 
“Not you: no!” 


“My brow is pale, my hair is gold; ‘ 
I can make your dreams come true. 
Treasures of tenderness I hold— 
Is it I you call?” 
“No: not you!”’ 


“TI am a mystery; I am a dream; 
A fleeting phantom of light and gloom; 
A mist; a shadow; not what I seem,— 
T cannot love you!”’ 
“Oh, come, come!”’ 
—Muna Lee. 


RIMAS 


The very atoms of the air 

Seem warmed and stirring everywhere; 

The sky with golden light suffused: 

The earth grown bright with dawn unused; 

I hear in waves of carolings 

The sound of kisses, sweep of wings; 

I close mine eyes,—what happens there?— 

—The passing-by of Love the fair!— 
—Roderick Gill. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


—_ 


| 
| 


502 |HISPANI C ANDTHE: 


ROSALIA DE CASTRO 
(1837-1883) 
THE CARILLON 


ROSALiA DE CAsTRO was born at Santiago de 
Compostela. She is one of the greatest pro- 
tagonists of regionalism in Spanish litera- 
ture, and her intimate studies of the Galician 
province early brought her into literary 
prominence. Her Cantares gallegos appeared 
in 1863; her En Jas orillas del Sar, in 1884. 


I love them—and I hearken 
As the winds their notes prolong, 
Like the murmur of a fountain, 
Like a lambkin’s distant song, 


Like the birds serenely winging 
On their way across the skies, 

At the break of daylight soaring 
To salute it with their cries. 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


i 


| 
k 
i 
: 
i 
; 


Rosalia de Castro 


ROSALIA DE CASTRO 


In their voices saying ever 
O’er the plain and mountain peak 
Something that is frank and candid, 
That a soothing charm would speak. 


jShould their voices cease forever, 
What a sorrow for the air! 
What a silence in the belfries! 
And the dead—how strangely bare! 
—Garreit Strange. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


595 


IV 


506 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


OLEGARIO VICTOR ANDRADE 
(1838-1883) 


ATLANTIDA 


Olegario Victor Andrade, who is generally 
considered the greatest poet of Argentina, 
after some experience in politics, became 
editor of La Tribuna, the government organ 
of President Roca. His poems, mostly 
written within a period of about five years, 
display unusual patriotic fire and inspiration. 
His Aéldntida won the national prize of Argen- 
tina in 1881. 


The passing centuries the secret kept. 

But Plato saw it dimly when beside 

The Aégean Sea, he gazed upon the shadows 

Falling softly on Hymettus’ peak, 

And spake mysterious words with restless 
waves 

That groaned beneath his feet. He knew 
the name 

Of this last child of Time, destined to be 


HISPANIC NOTES 


OLEGARIO V. ANDRADE 


The Future’s bride, where dwells eternal 
spring; 

And called it fair Atlantis. 

But God thought best to give the mighty 
task . 

To Latin men, the race that tamed the 
world, 

And fought its greatest battles. 


And when the hour was struck, Columbus 

came 

Upon a ship that bore the fate of Man, 

And westward made his way. 

The wild tumultuous Ocean hurled against 

The tiny Latin ship the black north 
wind, 

While whirlwinds roaring fiercely rode 
astride 

The lightning’s blood-red steed. 

Forward the vessel moved, and broke the 
seal 

Of Mystery; and fair Atlantis woke 

At last, to find her in a dreamer’s arms! 


Often the victor over thrones and 
crowns, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


508 


IV 


HISPANIC ANDROL OGY: 


The restless spirit of the ancient race 
Had found fulfilment of its noblest dream,— 
Abundant space and light in distant 


zones! 
With armor newly forged, nor dragging 
now 
The blood-stained winding-sheet of a dead 
past, 


Nor weighted down by blackest memories, 
Once more it ventured forth in eager quest 
Of liberty and glory. 


Before it lay a vast, unconquered world. 
Here, resting on the sea, *neath tropic 


skies, 

And bathed in the white light of rising 
dawn, 

The Antilles lift their heads, like scattered 
birds 


That utter plaintive cries, 

And dry their snowy wings that they may 
fly 

To other, distant shores. 


Here rises Mexico above two ‘seas, 
A granite tower that even yet would seem 


HISPANIC NOTES 


OLEGARIO V. ANDRADE| 509 


To spy the Spanish fleet as it draws near 
Across the Aztec gulf; 

And over there Colombia, lulled to sleep 
By the deep roar of Tequendama’s fall, 
Within its bosom hides unfailing wealth. . 


Hail, happy zone! Oh fair, enchanted 
land, 

Belovéd child of the creative sun 

And teeming home of animated life, 

The birthplace of the great Bolivar,—hail! 

In thee, Venezuela, all is great: 

The flashing stars that light thee from above; 

Thy genius and thy noble heroism, 

Which with volcanic force and deafening 
crash 

Burst forth on San Mateo’s lofty peak! 


Outstretched below the Andes’ mighty 
chain, 

ike one who weeps above an open grave, 

he Incas’ Rome doth lie. 

Its sword was broken in the bloody strife, 

And in obscurity its face was sunk. 

But still Peru doth live! 

For in a virile race 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


510 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHRO LOee: 


Defeat doth spell a new, a nobler life. 

And when propitious toil, which heals all 
wounds, 

Shall come to thee at last, 

And when the sun of justice shines again 

After long days of weeping and of shame, 

The ripening grain shall paint with flowers 
of golds 

The crimson cloak that o’er thy shoulder 
floats. 


Bolivia, namesake of the giant born 

At Mount Avila’s foot, 

Hath kept his lively wit and valiant 
heart, 

With which to face the storm and stress of 
life. 

It dreams of war today; but also dreams 

Of greater things, when ’stead of useless 
guns, : 

The engines made of steel 

Shall boldly bridge the vales and scale the 
hills. 


And Chile, strong in war and strong in 
toil, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


OLEGARIO V. ANDRADE| 511 


Hangs its avenging arms upon the wall, 

Convinced that victory by brutal strength 

Is vain and empty if it be not right. 

And Uruguay, although too fond of strife, 

The sweet caress of progress ever seeks; 

Brazil, which feels the Atlantic’s noisy 
kiss, 

With greater freedom were a greater state; 

And now the blesséd land, 

The bride of glory, which the Plata bathes 

And which the Andean range alone doth 
bound! 


Let all arise, for ’tis our native land, 
Our own, our native land, which ever sought 
Sublime ideals. Our youthful race was 

lulled 

E’en in the cradle by immortal hymns, 
And now it calls, to share its opulence, 
All those who worship sacred liberty, 
The fair handmaid of science, progress,| 
Our country turns its back on savage war, 
And casts away the fratricidal sword, 
That it may bind upon its haughty brow 
A wreath of yellow wheat, 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Lighter to wear than any golden crown. . . 
The sun of ultimate redemption shines 
On our belovéd land, which strides ahead 
To meet the future, and with noble mien 
Offers the Plata’s overflowing cup 
To all the hungry nations. .. . 

—Elijah Clarence Hills. 


IV | HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE ROSAS MORENO 513 


JOSE ROSAS MORENO 
(1838-1883) 


THE SPIDER’S WEB 


José Rosas MoreENo was born and died in 
Mexico. He was known for his dramas, as 
well as for his lyrical poetry of a simple 
domestic kind. His fables have been much 
appreciated. 


A dext’rous spider chose 

The delicate blossom of a garden rose 

Whereon to plant and bind 

The net he framed to take the insect kind. 

And when his task was done 

Proud of the cunning lines his art had spun, | 

He said, ‘‘I take my stand 

Close by my work, and watch what I have 
planned. 

And now, if heaven should bless 

My labors with but moderate success, 

No fly shall pass this way, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Nor gnat, but they shall fall an easy prey.” 
He spoke, when from the sky 
A strong wind swooped, and whirling, 
hurried by, 
And far before the blast 
Rose, leaf and web and plans and hopes 
were cast. 
—William Cullen Bryant. 


THE EAGLE AND THE SERPENT 


A serpent watched an eagle gain 

On soaring winds, a mountain height 
And envied him, and crawled with pain 

To where he saw the bird alight. 
So fickle fortune oftentimes 

Befriends the cunning and the base, 
And many a groveling reptile climbs 

Up to the eagle’s lofty place. 
—William Cullen Bryant. 


THE CATERPILLAR AND THE 
BUTTERFLY 


“‘Good-morrow, friend,” so spoke, upon a 
day 
A caterpillar to a butterfly. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE ROSAS MORENO || 515 


The wingéd creature looked another way, 
And made this proud reply: 

“No friend of worms am I.” 

The insulted caterpillar heard 

And answered thus the taunting word. 

“And what wert thou, I pray, 

Ere God bestowed on thee that brave 

array? 

Why treat the caterpillar tribe with scorn? 

Art thou then nobly born? 

What art thou, madam, at the best? 

A caterpillar elegantly dressed.” 

—William Cullen Bryant. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


516 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


JOAQUIN ARCADIO PAGAZA 
(1839- 2?) 


IN THE NIGHT 


Joaquin Arcapio PaGazA, Bishop of Vera 
Cruz, Mexico, was a poet of the classic school. 
Many of his Castilian sonnets are much ad- 
mired, although he is chiefly remembered as 
the translator into Spanish of the famous 
Latin poem Rusticatio mexicana by the Jesuit 
Rafael Landivar (1731-1793), a work shar- 
ing, with Balbuena’s Grandeza mexicana, the 
merit of fixing the classical style of letters 
in Hispanic America. 


It seems like noon, so bright the lustre 
shed 

On the damp forest by the moon’s white 
glow. 

The breeze scarce moves yon oak tree to 
and fro, 

That mid a thousand others rears its head. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOAQUIN A. PAGAZA 


O’er Zempoala, on an azure bed, 

The evening star rests just above the snow, 
And dimly in the fields the brooklet’s flow 
Shows like a silver ribbon far outspread. 


The heavens shine; the hoophoe’s note of 
pain 

Sounds on the mountain, and the echoes 
send 

Its wail across the broad plains plaintively. 

Phyllis, come follow me, for I would fain 

Enjoy this night; shut up the cot, my 
friend; 

Upon the hillside I will wait for thee. 

—Alice Stone Blackwell. 


-TWILIGHT 


Slowly the sun descends at fall of night, 
And rests on clouds of amber, rose and red; 
The mist upon the distant mountains shed 
Turns to a rain of gold and silver light. 


The evening star shines tremulous and 
bright 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


317 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Through wreaths of vapor, and the clouds 
o’erhead 

Are mirrored in the lake, where soft they} 
spread, 

And break the blue of heaven’s azure| 
height. 


Bright grows the whole horizon in the west 

Like a devouring fire; a golden hue 

Spreads o’er the sky, the trees, the plains 
that shine. 

The bird is singing near its hidden nest 

Its latest song, amid the falling dew, 


Enraptured by the sunset’s charm divine. 
—Alice Stone Blackwell. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ANTONIO SELLEN 


ANTONIO SELLEN 
(1840-1888) 


ANTONIO SELLEN, younger brother of the 
Cuban patriot and poet Francisco Sellén, 
was born at Santiago de Cuba. He became 
prominent in the periodical literature of the 
Cuban revolutionary period, publishing with | 
his brother, Estudios poéticos (1882), and | 
during his residence in New York Cuatro 
poemas de Lord Byron (New York, 1877). 


THE BROKEN BRANCH 
| 
| 
| 


Poor branch that broken from the tree 
Is at the mercy of the wave— 

How swift your flight, how rapidly, 
It sweeps you to your grave!— 


A moment in the angry pool 

You struggle with its might in vain— 
Amid the fury of its rule 

How useless to complain !— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


What matters it to me should tide 
Arise and gulp me down below— 

A withered branch and lone, beside ~ 
A world of which I nothing know? 


When sharp winds blow in hurricane 
The branches leafless sad and bare, 
And lorn they strive against the strain— 
What poor dried bough proves sturdy 
there? 


The branch that severs from the tree 
From which it took its parent birth 
Is a soul that in its misery 
Is lost to love and life on earth. 
—Garret Strange. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


DIEGO VICENTE TEJERA 


| 
DIEGO VICENTE TEJERA 
(1848-1903) 


JULIET 


DIEGO VICENTE TEJERA was born and died in 

Cuba. He passed some years in the United 
States endeavoring to organize a socialist 
party to figure in the Revolution of 1895. 
His Ramo de violetas appeared in 1878. 


“ Another kiss, then, Juliette, farewell!— 
Another, nay, another thousand more!—”’ 
She holds him back with her adoring spell; 
Careless of all, her ardent kisses pour. 
O secret transports what mere words can 
tell!— 
O hour of love with all its promised 
store!— 
Through the still chamber how the quick 
sighs spell 
The ecstasies their hearts have thirsted 
for! 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Delight! — forgetfulness! —_ The dawning 
breaks 
Across the casement panes. The lover 
flies 
Before the coming of the ancient day, 
Down the high balcony where lightly 
shakes 
His ladder,—where the swallows’ punc- 
tual cries, 
And swift and polished wings begin to 
play.— 
—Thomas Walsh. 


TO THEE 


And art thou dead?—No, Death oblivion 
brings, 

And still I dream of thee! 

Death, gentle Mother, a dark ruin flings, 
Yet still thy face I see! 

But if thou haply hast not died as yet— 
To-morrow—shalt thou live? 

Oh, if to-day—there is no morrow set ~ 
When Death the end can give. 

Never! Though destiny untimely wrought, 
Shalt thou his rigor know; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


DIEGO VICENTE TEJERA| 523 


Thou wert my all of glory—now my 
thought 
Shall be my love to show! 
Throughout the lonely world by night and 
day 
Shalt thou with me remain; 
Nor any hour I breathe, O Mother, may 
Death unto thee attain! 
And longer still with me shalt live until 
In God I seek thee far; 
Until thy rays of heavenly bliss fulfil 
And light our double star. 
Despite the moans my broken accents 
raise— 
“Where art thou, Mother, nowP—” 
Despite the tear that ceaseless comes and 
stays,— 
O Mother, dead art thour— 
To adoration of my inmost breast 
Thy memoried form shall glow. 
The world may lay the mothers to Death’s 
rest, 
But not their children, no!— 
—Roderick Gill. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


LUIS MONTOTO Y RAUTEN- 
STRAUCH 
(1855=..) 


OUR POET’S BREED 


Luis Montoro y RAUTENSTRAUCH was bornat 
Seville, where he has always been prominently 
identified with all civic activities. His works 
embody the brilliant life of the Andalusian 
capital. His publications include Noches de 
luna, Sevilla, La sevillana, and most popular 
of all Toros en Sevilla, Toros. Heisa member 
of the Spanish Academy. 


“Now whither go ye?”—Would that we 
did know— 
But who can trace the leaves at midnight 
torn 
From off the storm-swept branches as they 
go 
Upon the mighty tempest’s path ofscorn? 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LUIS MONTOTO 


“And where abide ye?”—In the refuse 
heap, 
Our walls and rafters rotting in the 
dust,— 
Dust watered only by the tears we weep— 
Tears bitter with our need and broken 
trust. 


“Had ye no father?”—Yea, he dreamt of 
fame 
And scorned the thrifty hoardings of the 
heart,— 
He whom the midnight fever overcame 
To sit, his brows with laurel crowned, 
apart. 


“What seek ye now?”—His legacy de- 
creed, 
The dreamer’s treasure buried in the sod; 
We are the children of the poet’s breed— 
Refuse us not an alms, for love of God! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


THE DAY’S ACCOUNT 


Night closes fast my gloomy door, 
The hour when I must make account 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTERGLecy: 


Of how the world has paid me for 
My toilsome day, and what amount. 


Ingratitudes, and mean disdain, 

And friendship’s smirking likelihood, 
And promises no deeds sustain, 

And many ills, and scanty good, 


And all the bitter pangs that start, 
And tears that are so prone to course,— 
But O what blessing in‘my heart! 
I carry home no grim remorse! 
—Roderick Gill. 


THE INGRATE 


The traveller on his torrid way 
Will quench his thirst at any spring 
Whose cooling waters chance to stray 
Beside his road of wandering. 


Then on upon his way he goes 
Without another thought or glance 
Upon the fountain that bestows 
Its all of joy and sustenance. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LUIS MONTOTO 


And so ’tis with the ingrate’s heart; 
Who once he can his need obtain 
Will on his journey lightly start 
And never turn his cheek again. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


THE BULLS IN SEVILLE 
I 


Bulls in Seville! Bulls in Seville! 
Come the shouts and flutter white 
Of the programmes they are selling 
To the experts of the fight. 

Bulls in Seville! Bulls in Seville! 
Murmur, touching glass to glass, 
All the patrons of the cafés 

While the weekly journals pass. 
Bulls in Seville! is the whisper 

Of the damsel in her best; 

Bulls in Seville! Bulls in Seville! 
Says the grande dame with the rest. 
Bulls in Seville! is the rumor 

Of the palace and the slum; 

Child and man and woman murmur 
That the noisy feasts have come. 
And the brilliant sun of Maytime 
And the gentle airs of spring, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


528 


HISPANIC Gaia eroecy. 


The aroma of the flowers 

And the orange breaths that fling, 
O’er the gracious Guadalquivir 
Where the crystal waters shine 
And the shadows from the Tower ~ 
On the surface rest benign. 

Then the joyous festivation 

Of the lofty bells is heard, 

And Giralda, the most lovely, 
Speaks the loudest, highest word 
And it seems as if the message 
“Bulls in Seville” is refrain 

Of the very winds ablowing 
Through the length and breadth of Spain. 


2 


Dandy dons his little jacket, 

Ties his double sash around, 

Whispering ‘‘ Now for the Bull-ring!” 
Breathless hurries to the ground. 

With her light shawl of Manilla 
Mariquita makes her fair; 

Puts a spray or two of flowers 

To give scent and deck her hair, 

And she murmurs,—‘‘To the Bull-ring!” 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LUIS MONTOTO 


As she hurries from her door, 
Down the crowded streets and plazas, 


“To the Bull-ring! To the Bull-ring!” 
Every tear is brushed and dried. | 
“To the Bull-ring! To the Bull-sing!”— | 
The to-morrows put aside! 


3 


In the shining blue of heaven 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


Here are all Triana’s neighbors, 
And from Macarena too; 

Many from San Roqué’s parish, | 
And Calzada’s not a few. 

Here within the shade, awaiting 

As in faculty of state, 

All the bachelors and doctors 

Of the bull-ring up-to-date. 

All the bachelors and doctors 

Who hold professorial seat 

On the street where the Sierpes 
And the proud Campafia meet. 
Friends are they to the bull-fighters; 
They the fates to-day can spell; 
When the others shout, they’re hissing; 
When the others hiss, they yell. 
And the peddlars hurry calling, 
“Water of Tomares, buy!”— 
“Almond cakes of cinnamon!”— 
“Hazel-nuts and seeds, who'll try!” 
The President gives salutation; 

The gates of entry fling ajar; 

See, the cavaliers are coming, 

With their coats that shine afar! 
Lightly spur the a/lguaciles, 

Formal license to obtain, 


HISPANIC NO@Es 


HISPANIC Altre LoGcy- 


LUIS MONTOTO 


Then return where their companions 
Wait to start with all their train. 
All the air with noise is ringing, 

As the entrance march is heard, 
And the bull-fighters are sighted 
Through the gateway at the word. 
“Blesséd be thy mother, brave one!””— 
“Mezquita, hail!” “‘Giralda hail!””— 
“Let us see thee, Manuelo!”— 
“Rafael, long may you prevail!” — 
First of all the gallant cohort 

You the matadors behold, 

Covered with their silken mantles 
And their garments wrought in gold. 
Two by two, their distance keeping, 
Banderilleros then advance 

In their little capes distinguished 
By the people at a glance. 

Then upon their Baviecas 

Come the picadors along, 

With their monkey-like retainers 
And their badges in a throng. 

And the mules are driven after, 

Gay with all their fringe and bells; 
Red and yellow in their ribbons,— 
Nought their sorry duty tells. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


532 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Then the sounding of the trumpets, 
Warns that the great bull arrives; 
Bellowing the mighty monster 

Down the sandy circle drives. 
Lighter than the snake or lizard 
Through the ranks of lads he goes, 
While the crowd is growing frantic,— 
“Let them catch him!” shouts arose.— 
“Good for that verénica, bully!”— 
“Bravo, that navarra’s fine!” 

“Hurra for the Rondefia method.— 
Sturdy foot and fearless sign!—” 
Picadorés! Picadorés! 

To your work, the bull is hot! 

Good defence! But hold you steady! 
He has not discharged his shot! 

“On the sand a fighter’s lying!”— 
“Ts he injured? ””—“‘Not at all!” 
Picadorés! Picadorés! 

“There’s another!—God, we call!” — 
“Sefior President, I offer 

Toasts for you and all the band! 
Toasts for all the strangers present! 
Toasts for all from Seville grand! 
Toasts for those who die in Cuba, 
Fighting there the war for Spain! 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


Bvuis (MONTOTO 


Toasts for all the lovely ladies! 
And the gentlemen again! ”— 

Then the matador arises, 

Seeks the bull at last grown still; 
Fixes ’twixt the horns and forehead 
His red point designed to kill. 

Altos three, two naturalés 

One de pecho that’s for grace, 
Muttering,—“ Here’s to your worships!” 
Stabs the blade unto its place. 

And the bull in anguish rocking, 
Haars the victor shouts around, 
Mingling with the burst of music 
And the clapping hands that sound. 
While the public in its frenzy 
Flings both hat and parasol, 
Walking-stick and cloak and jacket, 
To the matador’s control. — 

Then another bull, another, 

Other horses, other cries! 

On the sands a fresher blood-stain, 
On the benches other sighs! 

For the afternoon is closing 

And the hollow night is near; 

All the joy of day is over, 

And the plaza dark and drear. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


534 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Whither goest? To the Bull-ring!— 
Gaily Hope doth make reply. 
Whence art coming?—From the Bull-ring! 
Sad reality doth sigh. 
To the Bull-ring! From the Bull-ring!— 
Thus it is we live and die! 

—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


SALVADOR DIAZ MIRON 


SALVADOR DIAZ MIRON 
(1853- ) 
TO PITY 


SALVADOR Diaz MirO6n is a Mexican poet of 
Vera Cruz, showing force and originality in 
thought, and expression. Rubén Dario paid 
tribute to his greatness in his Azul. His 
only acknowledged work is entitled Lascas 
(Xalapa, 1906). 


You come to me in pride of gentle beauty. 
‘What various forms hath pride! It 
shows to view 
In the strong lion, rough mane and mighty 
roaring, 
And in the dove, soft note and changeful 
hue. 


A heavenly power comes with you to my 
sorrow; 
It dawns upon the cavern’s darksome 
night, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


536 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


IV 


And enters in and spreads there like a 
music, 

Like a sweet fragrance, like a shining 
light. 


You give to sadness, like a good magician, 
A happy truce; moved sweetly by your 
graces, 
I bless the wound because of its pure 
balsam; 
I love the desert for its green oasis! 
—Alice Stone Blackwell. 


SNOW-FLAKE 


To soothe my pain because thou canst not 
love me, 

Gazing upon me with an angel’s air, 

Thou dost immerse thy fingers, cool and 
pallid, 

In the dark mane of my tempestuous hair. 


*Tis vain, O woman! Thou dost not con- 
sole me. 

We are a world apart, in naught the same. 

If thou art snow, then why dost bes not 
freeze me? 


HISPANIC NOTES 


SALVADOR DIAZ MIRON 


Why do IJ melt thee not, if I am flame? 
Thine hand, so spiritual and transparent, 
When it caresses my submissive head, 
Is but the snow-cap crowning the volcano, 
Whose burning lava-depths beneath it 
spread! 
—Alice Stone Blackwell. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


937 


IV 


HISPANIC AN PROLOGY: 


ENRIQUE HERNANDEZ MIYARES 
(1854-1914) 
THE FAIREST ONE 


ENRIQUE HERNANDEZ MiyarEs was a Cuban 
poet who contributed extensively to the 
Revista Cubana and whose sonnet, La mds 
fermosa, has been greatly admired. 


Keep on, O knight! with lance uplifted 
ride, 
To punish every wrong by righteous deed; 
For constancy at last shall gain its meed, 
And justice ever with the law abide. 
Mambrino’s broken helmet don with pride, 
Advance undaunted onthy glorious steed; 
To Sancho Panza’s cautions pay no heed; 
In destiny and thy right arm confide! 


At Fortune’s coy reserve display no fear; 


For should the Cavalier of the White 
Moon 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ENRIQUE MIYARES 


With arms ’gainst thine in combat dare 
appear, 
Although by adverse fate thou art o’er- 
thrown,— 
Of Dulcinea even in death’s hour swear 
That she will always be the only fair! 
—Alfred Coester. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


539 


IV 


540 |HISPANIC ANPHOLOGY: 


J. RODRIGUEZ LA ORDEN 
(1853- ) 


TO AN ANDALUSIAN FAN 


J. RopriGuEz La OrDEN was born at Seville, 
where for many years he has acted as editor 
of the journal El Baluarte. Under the pen- 
name of ‘‘Carrasquilla”’ he has achieved suc- 
cess in poetry, criticism, and in the theater. 
His works include El pufiado, and Cuentos y 
trozos literarios. 


I wish I were the little man 

So deftly painted on your fan, 

That when you smile, you’d press its tips 

To school the laughter of your lips; 

And I the secret kiss might hear 

And mock at them who think it queer 

That you with pictured rivals try us 

And give the fan what you deny us. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JESUS E. VALENZUELA] 541 


~ JESUS E. VALENZUELA 
(1856-1911) 


A SONG OF HANDS 


Jests E. VALENZUELA was born at Guanacevi 
in the State of Durango, Mexico. He passed 
most of his life in Mexico City where he 
founded the Revista Moderna, in the pages of 
which most of his poems made their first 
appearance. 


Hands—like soft blossoming buds— 
Of children that search for the breast, 
In the calm sea of love’s gaze 
Cradled and sweetly caressed! 
Small hands of Jesus the Christ, 
In glory ineffably bright; 
Hands like soft blossoming buds, 
Hands bathed in milk and in light. 


Fairy hands, nimble and fair, 
O’er the piano that stray 
Like a vague dream of life, or the void— 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


542 


HISPANIC{IANTHOLOGH: 


A dream from some realm far away! 
The winged expression are ye 

Of a sigh, or some cry on the air, 
Floating in infinite space, 

Fairy hands, nimble and fair. 


Hands of an ivory white, 
In the shade of the mantle obscure 
Brightening prayer with their gleams 
Gentle and starlike and pure! 
Through their whiteness have passed all the 
woes 
That ever humanity knew, 
With the rosary’s beads, one by one— 
O hands of the ivory’s hue! 


Hands full of charity’s grace, 

Which to the hungry by night 
Carry forth comfort and food, 

Bread of hope’s joy, of truth’s light! 
Noble, mysterious hands, 

Of kindness unending, sincere! 
Brothers are we, one and all, 

Hands full of charity dear! 


O pale, perished hands of the dead 
For love or as martyrs who died! 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JESUS E. VALENZUELA 


Leaves of one lily are ye, 


Hands that were clasped or spread wide; 


Hands full of questions, desires, 
Aspirations and yearnings unsaid— 

Hands to the heavens outstretched, 
O pale, perished hands of the dead! 


Hands with the sword in their grasp, 
That by warfare a sceptre have won, 
And fill the whole world with the flood 
Of rivers of blood that o’errun! 
Hands of the common folk, armed 
When quarrels or battles have birth— 
Hands with the sword in their grasp, 


Hands that are bleeding and hard, 
That plough up the stern, arid soil, 
And scarce feel the flight of the hours, 
So heavy and cruel the toil; 
Hands in the workshop that sweat, 
That set up the type in all lands, 
Hands that meet death in the mines— 
Hard, rough, and blood-spotted hands! 


Hands that are wonted to toil, 
Strong hands of the brave and the free! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


j 
! 


544 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


When on the heights, in the depths, 

Vibrates o’er land and o’er sea, 

Stirring the world from its roots, 

The anger of justice on fire— 

Hands that are wonted to toil, 

You shall that day hold the lyre! 
—Alice Stone Blackwell. 


TV 


HISPANIC NOTES | 


& 8 
From the painting by Sorolla in the Hispanic Society 
of America 


Marcelino Menéndez y Pelayo 


MENENDEZ Y PELAYO 


‘MARCELINO MENENDEZ Y PELAYO. 
(1856-1912) 
ROME 
Marcetriso MENENDEZ ¥ PELAYO was the 


great literary scholar of modern Spain. Much 
of his prose work may be considered pure 


poetry, as wellas history and philosophy. His 
‘marked humanistic bent comes out clearly in 
his metrical work, which may be found in| 
Odas, epistolas y tragedias (Madrid, 1883). 


Age with devouring fingers spareth!| 
naught — | 
Nor populous realm, nor consecrated 
laws; 
See, now an alien flock to pasture draws 
Within the shade where once the Tribunes 
taught; 
‘No more, behind triumphant chariots 
caught, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


548 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Go kings in chains to swell the victor’s 
cause; 
Nor the Clitumnian oxen—’mid the 
pause 
Move toward the altar pompously en- 
wrought. 


Like cloud or shadow or swift-fleeting bark, 

Laws, armies, glories, all, are swept away; 
Alone a cross above the ruins, see! 

Tell me, O cross, what destiny you mark?— 

Of old Rome’s greatness shall the future 

say, 
’Twas human glory, or God’s majesty? 
—Roderick Gill. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


—S 


MANUEL JOSE OTHON 


MANUEL JOSE OTHON 
(1858-1906) 
THE RIVER 


MANUEL JosE OTHON was a Mexican poet 
famous for his studies of nature in poems 
arranged for the most part in sonnet- 
sequences. The best known of these is the 
Noche rustica de Walpurgts. 


With graceful waves, ye waters, frolic free; 
Uplift your liquid songs, ye eddies bright; 
And you, loquacious bubblings, day and 

night, 

Hold converse with the wind and leaves 

in glee! 

O’er the deep cut, ye jets, gush sportively. 
And rend yourselves to foamy tatters 

white, 5 
And dash on boulders curved and rocks 
upright, 

Golconda’s pearls and diamonds rich to see! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


349 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


I am your sire, the River. Lo, my hair 
Is moonbeams pale: of yon cerulean sky 
Mine eyes are mirrors, as I sweep along. 
Of molten spray is my forehead fair; 
Transparent mosses for my beard have I; 
The laughter of the Naiads’ is my song. 
—Alice Stone Blackwell. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


aa 


GUTIERREZ NAJERA 


MANUEL GUTIERREZ NAJERA 
(1859-1895) 


OUT OF DOORS 


MANUEL GUTIERREZ NAJERA, the Mexican| 
precursor of the modernist movement in 
Spanish poetry, endeavored to amalgamate 
French spirit and Spanish form and so produce 
a type of poetry with the qualities of intel- 
lectual music. He was one of the founders of 
La Revista Azul and is generally canaidneeal 
one of the greatest of Mexican poets. 


The Gardenia pleaded—‘‘See how white 
am [!”’"— 

“White, but not so white as She! ’’—Was)| 
my reply. 

““My light is of the heavens! ’’—said Sirius 
afar; 

“But not so Paradisiac as hers!’’—I told 
the star. 


55! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


The swallow twittered in the boughs, 
To nightingale amid the flowers, 
Singing in a glad carouse 

As I listened through the hours. 
“What a pair of tuneless voices 
When compared to notes of hers! 
Nor is there a star rejoices 

With the glow her soft glance stirs, 
Simply telling me—I love thee. 
Take away, O God, the light, 

The scents, the birds, the stars above me!— 
Take away all beauty bright, 

But leave her to my sight!” 
—Thomas Walsh. 


WHITE 


What thing than the lily unstained is more 
white? 
More pure than the mystic wax taper so 
bright? 
More chaste than the orange-flower, 
tender and fair? 
Than the light mist more virginal—holier 
too 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GUTIERREZ NAJERA 


Than the stone where the eucharist stands, 
ever new, 
In the Lord’s House of Prayer? 


By the flight of white doves all the air now 
is cloven; 
A white robe. from strands of the morning 
mist woven, 
Enwraps in the distance the feudal 
round tower. 
The trembling acacia, most graceful of 
trees, 
Stands up in the orchard and waves in the 
breeze 
Her soft, snowy flower. 


See you not on the mountain the white of 
the snow? 

The white tower stands high o’er the village 
below; 


The gentle sheep gambol and play, pass-| 


ing by. 

Swans pure and unspotted now cover the 
lake; 

The straight lily sways as the breezes 
awake; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


553 


HISPANIC ANTROLGGCY- 


IV 


The volcano’s huge vase is uplifted on 
high. 


Let us enter the church: shines the eucharist 


there; 
And of snow seems to be the old pastor’s 
white hair; 
In an alb of fine linen his frail form is 
clad. 
A hundred fair maidens there sit robed in 
white; 
They offer bouquets of spring flowers, fresh 
and bright, 
The blossoms of April, pure, fragrant 
and glad. 


Let us go to the choir; to the novice’s 
prayer 

Propitiously listens the Virgin so fair; 

The white marble Christ on the crucifix 

dies; 

And there without stain the wax tapers 
rise white; 

And of lace is the curtain so thin and so 
light, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GUITERREZ NAJERA 


: 
Which the day-dawn already shines| 


through from the’skies. 


Now let us go down to the field. Foaming) 
white, 
The stream seems a tumult of feathers in| 
flight, | 
As its waters run, foaming and singing in| 
glee. 
In its airy mantillaof mist cooland pale 
The mountain is wrapped; the swift bark’s| 
lateen sail, 
Glides out and is lost to our sight on the 
sea. 


The lovely young woman now springs from| 


her bed, 
On her goddess-like shoulders fresh water 
to shed, 


On her fair, polished arms and her) 


beautiful neck. © 


Now, singing and smiling, she girds on her 
gown; 
Bright, tremulous drops, from her hair 
shaken down, 
Her comb of Arabian ivory deck. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


555 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


O marble! O snows! O vast, wonderful 
whiteness! 
Your chaste beauty everywhere sheds its 
pure brightness, 

O shy, timid vestal, to chastity vowed! 
In the statue of beauty eternal are you; 
From your soft robe is purity born, ever 

new; 

You give angels wings, and give mortals a 

shroud. 


You cover the child to whom life is yet 
new, 
Crown the brows of the maiden whose 
“promise is true, 
Clothe the page inrich raiment that 
shines like a star. 
How white are your mantles of ermine, O 
queens! 
The cradle how white, where the fond 
mother leans! 
How white, my belovéd, how spotless 
you are! 


In proud dreams of love, I behold with 
delight 


HISPANIC NOTES 


i i tite 


GUITERREZ NAJERA 


The towers of a church rising white in my 
sight, 
And a home, hid in lilies, that opens to 
me; 
And a bridal veil hung on your forehead so 
fair, 
Like a filmy cloud, floating down slow 
through the air, 
Till it rests on your shoulders, a marvel to 
see! 
—Alice Stone Blackwell. 


IN THE DEPTHS OF NIGHT 


O Lord! O Lord!—how are the seas of 
thought 
Tonight with waves of direst tempest 
torn!— 
My spirit is in darkness terror-caught 
Like Peter’s, on Tiberiades borne! 


The waves are cleaving so my little bark 
That to its last destruction it seems nigh; 
Thou who didst shed Thy light on blindness 
dark, 
Oh, let it now unto my faith reply! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


on 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Rise, rise, O Star of Jesus, on the world 
That lightly mocks the weakness of my 
arms! 
My soul is chilled; our earthly hopes are 
furled; 
Our eyes are closing ’mid the dread 
alarms! 


Appear across the blackness of the night !— 
Our spirits call Thee!—here alone we 
wait !— 
And coming swiftly let Thy garment white 
Appease the waves where there was 
tumult late! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MODRIGUEZ DE TIO 


LOLA RODRIGUEZ DE TIO 
(1859-_ ) 
MIST 


LoLa RopriGUEZ DE Tio is a distinguished 
figure in the history and literature of the 
Antilles. She was born in Puerto Rico, but 
has passed many years of her life in Ha- 
bana, Her several volumes of poems have 
enjoyed great appreciation. 


O faint remembrances of vanished days 
That stole away on such a velvet wing 
O’er meads and groves, o’er plains and 

mountain ways, 
What grief and sorrow to my heart you 
bring! 


Come back without the shadow of your 
care, 

Come back in silence and without a 
moan, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


560 


IV 


HISPANIC AMMRGLOGy.: 


As the birds cross the unregarding air 
Till none may tell the whence or whither 
flown. 


Come back amid the pallor of the moon 
That silvers all the azure rifts at sea, 
Or in the deadly mist that in a swoon 
Engulfs afar the green palm’s royal 
tree. 


Bring back the murmur of the doves that 
made 
Their little nests so neighborly to mine; 
The vibrant airs—the fragrances that 
played 
Around the peaks that saw my cradle 
shine. 


Sing in my ear the melodies of old, 

So sweet and joyous to my inmost 
heart; 

O faint remembrances two breasts should 
hold, 

Two breasts that Destiny was loath to 

part! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MOORIGUEZ DE TIO 


What matter if a sigh steals through the 
dream 
That shows the withered vine in flower 
again?— 
So that remembrances in singing seem, 
O tremulous lyre, to speak my endless 
pain! 
—Roderick Gill. 


mano MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC AN Pet OGY: 


IV 


-/ENRIQUE MENENDEZ Y PELAYO 


(1861- ) 
THE CYPRESS 


ENRIQUE MENENDEZ Y PELAYO, the brother 
of Marcelino Menéndez y Pelayo, was born at 
Santander. He wrote many successful novels 
and comedies. For his poems, see Desde mi 
huerta (1890) and Cancionero de la vida in- 
quteta (1915). 


There is a cypress in the neighboring 
grove 
As black as is the image of my pain; 
Whose topmost branches in the moon 
attain 
Such aspect as some ghostly world would 
prove. 
Then vagrant fancy ceaselessly would 
move, 
Transforming all the woodland scene 
again; 


HISPANIG NOTES 


—— = 


a 


—— 


E. MENENDEZ Y PELAYO 


Where yesterday a lawn, now sand- 
wastes reign; 
Where was a wood, today a road would 
rove. 


Alone it stands, resisting every change!— 
And I, in agony from life’s dire wound, 
- Gaze on its heights and all my moan is 


hushed; 
Learning that,—memory or hope!—there| 
range 
To grow within my life’s own garden| 
ground 
High things that man nor wind hath ever 
crushed! 
—Thomas Walsh. 
AND MONOGRAPHS 


564 


IV 


HISPANIC ANDHOLOEG y- 


JULIAN DEL CASAL 
(1863-1893) 
TO MY MOTHER 


JULIAN DEL CasaL was born in Habana, Cuba. 
He early became imbued with the ideas of 
the French decadent poets. He loved Greece 
as well as Paris, but never visited either. An 
early death closed a career marred by ill-health 
and pessimism. His works are Hojas al viento 
(1890), Neve (1891), and Bustos y rimas 
(1893). 


_|More than a mother as a saint to me 


You were in truth. You gave me birth 
and died, 


’ But Oh! my mother when you left my side 


God kissed an angel in eternity. 

Today when in my dreams methinks I see 

Your smiling face, I gaze on you with pride, 

And sigh, sweet mother, as I oft have 
sighed, 

While tears I shed when I remember thee. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


Julian del Casal 


JULIAN DEL CASAL 567 


And should we never, never meet again 
How sad ’twould be, but I shall always 
keep 
Your image in my heart, and not complain; 
For something tells me that you lie asleep 
Because my suff’ring would have caused 
you pain— 
Because my weeping would have made 
you weep. 
—Jorge Godoy. 


MY LOVES—SONNET A LA POMPA- 
DOUR 


My loves are bronzes, crystals, porcelains, 
Windows aglow like jewelled treasuries, 
Hangings of florid, golden argosies, 

And salvers brilliant with Venetian stains. 

My loves are damosels of ancient reigns, 
The old world’s troubadour sweet 

harmonies, 
The steed that bounds to Arabic caprice, 

The German ballad with its tear refrains, 


The ivory-carved piano-keys aflood, 
The sounding horn within the forest 
glade, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


568 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


The soft aroma from the censer fumed, 
The couch of ivory, gold, and sandal-wood, 
Where virgin loveliness at last is laid, 
A broken flower of innocence en- 
tombed. 
—Roderick Gill. 


CONFIDENCES 


Why weepest thou, my sweetheart pale, 
Why bendest down thy lovely head?— 
A dread idea doth assail 
My mind and turn my heart to lead.— 


Tell me: have they not loved thee well?— 
Never!—Come, tell the truth to me.— 
Ah, then; one lover only I can tell 
Was faithful—Who?—My misery. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


THE PEARL 
Hovering o’er a lovely pearl 


That the depths of earth were guarding 
As an offering divine 


HISPANIC NOTES 


PULIAN DEL CASAL 


From the hands of the Eternal, 
Were two birds of rapine set 
With their eyes upon its gleaming, 
One with plumage all of gold, 

One with plumage black as jet. 


Seeing that the pearl was bursting 

In its. shell within the slime, 

They made ready with their beaks 

To dissect its broken pieces,— 

These two birds of rapine set 

With their eyes upon its gleaming, 

One with plumage all of gold, 

One with plumage black as jet. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


570 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


RAMON DOMINGO PERES 
(1863- —) 


THE AEOLIAN HARP 


Ramon Dominco PeErés is a native of Ha- 
vana but settled at Barcelona,where he has re- 
vealed his fine sense of critical values in Musgo 
(Barcelona, 1903). He has also written many 
poems. 


Deep in my dreamland garden sways 

A harp aeolian none remembers more;— 
Who cares, or listens what it says 

In music that is o’er? 


No fingers wake it; ’tis by chance 
Alone its notes unechoed wake; 

Think you the flower of beauty’s glance 
Through its dim tones could break? 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


RAMON DOMINGO PERES| 571 


With none to hearken, all alone 
Its breathings fugitive it keeps; 
When the wind strikes a listless tone 
It either sings—or weeps. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


972 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


OLAVO BILAC 
(1865-1919) 
FROM CACADOR DE ESMERALDAS 


OLavo Bitac was born at Rio de Janeiro. 
He devoted his entire life to the practice of 
letters in his native country, his earliest 
writings appearing in the Gaceta de Noticias. 
He also became famous as an orator. Among 
his works are Cronicas e Novelas, Criticas, 
Conferencias literarias, Poesias infantiles, 
Cuentos patrios, A Patria Brazileira. His 
greatest poem is entitled Cagador de Esme- 
raldas. 


Over his dying head the shadowed veil of 
heaven 

Pales and grows thin, its nocturn darkness 
riven 

By the argent lance of the moon a-sail on 
high. 

His eyes, renewed with radiance, seek in 
the lighted space, 


HISPANIC’ NOTES 


OLAVO BILAC 


The wraith of a smile hovers and passes’ 
over his face; | 
Fernan Dias opens his arms to earth and 


sky. 


In a green heaven the stars break into. 
flames of green; 

In the green forest glade green flowers 
dance between 

Emerald trunks, as oreads eee on| 
grassy floors; 

Lightning flashing green all the still heaven 
fills, 

The sullen flood of the river breaks into’ 
emerald rills; 

Green from out green skies a rain of 
emeralds pours. 


Now as a man from death raised by the 
hands of a lover, | 
Resurrected, he rises; his dying eyes recover | 
Sight for the vision that tells again of his. 
seven-year seeking; 
Life in his veins flows new; his eager senses. 
rejoice, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC Ate ea 


And to his hearing comes the sound of a 
clarion Voice, 

Clear in the hush of the night, from that 
bright glory speaking: 


“Die! As in thine hands the stones that 
thou hast sought 

Dissolve as a dream fades, in dust returned 
to nought; 

What matter? Sleep in peace! Sleep, 

-for thy toil is ended! 

Link after link, over plain and on rugged 
mountain slope 

As a belt of emeralds strewn, as a shining 
pledge of hope, 

Green in the desert sands, the towns of thy 
heart are extended. 


‘Their hands in Fortune’s hands, linked to 
what whim of hers, 

Marched from the camp each dawn thy 
band of wanderers; 

North and south sought they, through 
plain and forest maze, 

Shelter and surcease of care. Now on 
each wild hillside, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


OLAVO BILAC 


The walls of a homestead stand erect with a 
victor’s pride, 

And the beacon light of a hearth on the 
desert sheds its rays. 


“Tn all thy wandering, adventure compass- 
less, 

‘Thou, like the sun, wert a very fount of 
fruitfulness; 

Behind each weary step lay a highway for 
man’s tread; 

Victory hailed thy name by every charted 
stream; 

And as thou wanderedst on, dreaming 
thy selfish dream, 

As stirred by the step of a god, the desert 
blossomed. 


“Die! From each drop of sweat, from the 
fount of each burning tear, 
Fertile, a newer life shall spring in a newer 


year; 

Fruitful shall be thy. thirst, thy vigil and 
thy fast. 

Under the kiss of the sun, harvests shall 
ripening lie, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPAN PC ARS Sele. 


Under the kiss of love thy race shall 
multiply, 

And the land whereon thou liest shall 
burgeon. Then at last 


“In the voice of the plough thou shalt 
sing, in the bell’s daily song 

In the tumult of crowded streets, in the 
midst of the laughing throng, 

In hymns of blessed peace, in the clamour 
of man’s endeavour; 

Through veiling mists of time shall rise thy 
bright renown, 

Thou ravisher of the desert, thou planter 
of many a town! 


In the heart of thy fatherland thy name 
shall live forever.” 


The fateful voice is stilled. All the earth 
hushes: 

The fair high-sailing moon her silver fingers 
pushes 

Through the sleeping leaves of the forest 
majesties; 

In the maternal arms of Earth, content, 
enwrapped, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LAVO BILAC 


e eternal peace of the starry spaces 
lapped, 

ever free from questing, Fernan Dias 
dies. 
—Lilian E. Elliott. 


577 


IV 


578 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


MIGUEL DE UNAMUNO 
(1865- ) 


DOMESTIC SCENES 


MIGUEL DE UNAMUNO is a native of Galicia 
who for many years has been attached to the 
University of Salamanca, where for some time 
he acted as Rector. His works on literature 
and philosophy are numerous, and he has 
published several books of travel. 


if 


When shades of night have come 

And all my house is sleeping, 

The silent peace of home 

Its arms about them keeping, 

And the only sound I hear 

Is my children’s measured breathing,— 
Then my dream sees life appear 
Toward a larger meaning wreathing; 


IV HISPANIC Wot. 


MIGUEL DE UNAMUNO 


Then their breathing seems a prayer 
Through their voice of dream repeating, 
While their consciousness is bare 

In their God the Father meeting. 
Dream, O Dream, thou art the sign 

Of the life that knows no ending, | 
Of that stainless life divine 
On this present life attending! 


2 


Look not upon me with such eyes, my son; 
|I would not have thee read my secret clear, 
Nor would I so deceive my little one 

That poison through thy fragile veins 
should sear. 
|Never, O never, may thy father’s gloom | 
\Obstruct thee from the joy and glow of| 
day— 
To speak of joy does voice presume?— 

I do not wish thee joy, 

For on this earth 

To live in mirth 

One must be saint or fool;— 

And fool,—God save thee, boy !— 

And saint—I know not of the school. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


379 


IV 


580 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


3 


Go, stir the brazier coals, my child; 
The fire is growing cold. 
How brief today the sun has smiled! 
To think the orb that you behold 
One day shall cinder turn, 
And God’s great brow, the heavens, enfold 
Its ashes like an urn. 

—Thomas Walsh. 


IV 


HISPANIC WOTES 


JOSE ASUNCION SILVA 


JOSE ASUNCION SILVA 
(1865-1896) 


A POEM 


JosE AsunciOn SiILva, one of the founders 
of the modernist school of Spanish poetry, 
was born at Bogoté, Colombia. He modeled 
many of his reforms on the practice of Edgar 
Allan Poe, and displayed unusual genius 
throughout his short and unhappy life, which 
was ended by his own hand. His works were 
published in Paris by Baldomero Sanin Cano 
in 1913. 


I planned one time to perpetrate a song, 
One of the new kind, pulsing, free and 
strong. 


I balanced subjects tragic and grotesque, 
Conjuring all the rhythms unto my desk; 


| 
| 
| 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


582 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


And then the skittish metres gathered 
round 
Joining in shadowy swing and leap and 
bound 


Metres sonorous, metres potent, grave, 
Some with the shock of arms, some, bird- 
songs brave; 


From East and West, from South as well as 
North, 

Metres and stanzas bowing hurried forth. 

Chafing their golden bridles, loose of rein, 

Approach the Tercets, as if coursers vain. 


And opening up amid the gallant ring, 
Purple and gold, arrived the Sonnet king. 


And all began to sing—Among the rabble 
There rose the spirit of a charming gabble. 


One pointed strophe wakened my desire 
With the clear tinkling of a little spire; 


So above all, I chose it for the bride 
Adding my crystal, silver rhymes beside. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE ASUNCION SILVA 


And thus I told a tale, with subtle grace, 
A tragical, fantastic, never base,— 


Though sad enough, a story straight and 
terse— 
Of a fair lady loved and in her hearse; 


And to sustain the mournful note I added 
Soft lisps with ex professo kisses padded: 


I decked the phrase with gold, and music 
rare 
Of lute and mandolin was sounded there. 


I drew the light of distances profound 
With solemn mists and melancholies bound; 


And ’mid the dim obscure, as in a feast 
Of mortals, dancers to the dance released; 


Clothed them in words that cloud like 
heavy veils, 

With midnight masks of satin, velvet 
trails ;— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


583 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


And in the background intertwining, 
wound 
The mystical and fleshly, as if bound. 


Then in my author’s pride, I added there 
Heliotrope scent and light of jacynth 
rare— 


And brought the poem to a critic grand, 
Who sent it back—“T fail to understand.” 
—Thomas Walsh. 


NOCTURNE 


One night, 

One night all full of murmurs, of perfumes 
and the brush of wings, 

Within whose mellow nuptial glooms there 
shone fantastic fireflies, 

Meekly at my side, slender, hushed and 
pale, 

As though with infinite presentiment of 
woe 

Your very depths of being were troubled ,— 

By the path of flowers that led across the 
plain, 


HISPANIC ‘NOTES 


JOSE ASUNCION SILVA] 585 


You came treading, 

And the rounded moon 

Through heaven’s blue and infinite pro- 
found was shedding whiteness. 


And your shadow 

Languid, delicate; 

And my shadow, 

Sketched by the white moonlight’s ray 
Upon the solemn sands 

Of the path, were joined together, 

As one together, 

As one together, 

As one together in a great single shadow, 
As one together in a great single shadow, 
As one together in a great single shadow.— 


Another night 

Alone—all my soul 

Suffused with infinite woes and agonies of 
death, 

Parted from you, by time, by the tomb 
and estrangement, 

By the infinite gloom 

Through which our voices fail to pierce, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Silent and lonely, 
Along that road I journeyed— 


And the dogs were heard barking at the 


moon, 
At the pale-faced moon, 
And the croaking 
Of the frogs— 


I was pierced with cold, such cold as on 
your bed 

Came over your cheeks, your breasts, your 
adorable hands, 

Between the snowy whiteness 

Of your mortuary sheets; 

It was the cold of the sepulchre, the chill of 
death, 

The frost of nothingness.— 

And my shadow 

Sketched by the white moonlight’s ray, 

Went on alone, 

Went on alone, 

Went on alone over the solitary wastes; 

And your shadow, slender and light, 

Languid, delicate, 


HISPANIC: NOTES 


JOSE ASUNCION SILVA] 587 


As on that soft night of your springtime 
death, 
As on that night filled with murmurs, with 
perfumes and the brush of wings, 
Came near and walked with me, 
Came near and walked with me, 
Came near and walked with me—Oh, 
shadows interlaced !— 
Oh, shadows of the bodies joining in shadow 
of the souls!— 
Oh, shadows running each to each in the 
nights of woes and tears!— 
—Thomas Walsh. 


THE SERENADE 


The street is deserted, the night is cold, 
The moon glides veiled amid cloud-banks 
dun; 

The lattice above is tightly closed, 

And the notes ring clearly one by one 
Under his fingers light and strong, 

While the voice that sings tells tender 
things, 

As the player strikes on his sweet guitar 
The fragile strings. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


IV 


HISPANIC FAN TDHROLOGY: 


The street is deserted, the night is cold, 

A cloud has covered the moon from sight. 

The lattice above is tightly closed, 

And the notes are growing more soft and 
light. 

Perhaps the sound of the serenade 

Seeks the soul of the girl who loves and 
waits, 

As the swallows seek eaves to build their 
nests 

When they .come in spring with their 
gentle mates. 


The street is deserted, the night is cold, 
The moon shines out from the clouds aloft; 
The lattice above is opened now 
And the notes are growing more low, more 
soft. 
The singer with fingers light and strong 
Clings to the ancient window’s bar, 
And a moan is breathed from the fragile 
strings 
Of the sweet guitar. 
—Alice Stone Blackwell. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LUIS MUNOZ RIVERA 


589 


LUIS MUNOZ RIVERA 
(1865-1916) 


TO HER 


Luis MuNos RIVERA was a native of Puerto 
Rico, who became prominent at the time that 
island became part of the United States. He 
_|was editor of La Democracia and served as 
Commissioner of Puerto Rico to the United 
States Government. His poems, under the 
title of Tropicales, were published in New 
York in 1902. 


When on my lyre I touch the strings apart 
In search of melody serene and rare, 
Her memory comes stealing o’er my heart 
And gentle thoughts in thousands gather 

there. 


Her image floats before me in a glance 
Of golden wonder hovering at my eyes; 
An atmosphere delirious would entrance 
My soul with perfumes out of Paradise. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


590 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


The sparkle of her glances sets aflame 
The hearth-place of the inmost of my 
soul; 
It glows with inspiration; strings acclaim; 
The chant begins and swells beyond 
control. 


Then as the radiant vision dies away, 
As melts afar some white cloud full of 
dew, 
My verses through my mind begin to play, 
And on the page my pen would catch a 
few. 
—Roderick Gill. 


iy HISPANTC iw 


FABIO FIALLO 


FABIO FIALLO 
(i865—=%). 4) 
NOSTALGIA 


FaBio FIALLO is a native of San Domingo, 
one of the leaders of the modernista move- 
ment, and known widely for his writings in 
prose and verse. 


There we were and the good St. Peter 
Who came to God on high— 

A dauntless fellow of a crusader, 
A pretty maid, and I. 


The soldier prayed that he might ever 
Fight as on earth he fought: 

And St. Michael gave his own picked legion 
As the boon he sought. 


The maid sobbed out a stammering prayer 
To return to her lover’s sight, 

And she became the kiss of dawn by day, 
A ray of the moon by night. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


My turn next; and God said blandly, 
‘Already I know your will; 

You desire the harp of My singer David!” 
—My pride leapt up—but still— 


“Oh, no, Lord; another thing! 

To be a tree on the tropic shore 
Watered by my own Ozama, 

And there, deep-rooted, to live once 


more!” 
- —Muna Lee. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


Rubén Dario 


= = ss 7) = 


j 


ee eS ee ee ee ——— oe Las 


RUBEN DARIO 


RUBEN DARIO 
(1867-1916) 


TO ROOSEVELT 


Rusen Dario, the leading modernist poet in| 
Spanish, was born at Leon, Nicaragua. He} 
devoted his early life to journalism in various| 
parts of South America. Later he took up 
his residence at Madrid where he greatly 
influenced the writers of his generation. 
His principal publications are Azul (1888),| 
Prosas profanas, and Cantos de vida y esperanza 
(1896), El canto erranie (1907). Dario re- 
turned to Leén shortly before his death 
there. 


I 


*Tis only with the Bible or with Walt 
Whitman’s verse, 

That you, the mighty hunter, are reached 

by other men. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


596 


HISPANIC AN PaeECcy 


Youw’re primitive and modern, you’re simple 
and complex,— 

A veritable Nimrod with aught of Wash- 
ington. 

You are the United States; 

You are the future foe 

Of free America that keeps its Indian blood, 

That prays to Jesus Christ, and speaks in 
Spanish stil 

You are a fine example of a strong and 
haughty race; 

Yceu’re learnéd and you’re clever; to Tol- 
stoy you’re opposed; 

And whether taming horses or Slaying 
savage beasts, 

You seem an Alexander and Nebuchadnez- 
zar too. 

(As madmen today are wont to say, 

You’re a great. professor of energy.) 

You seem to be persuaded 

That life is but combustion, 

That progress is eruption, 

And where you send the bullet 

You bring the future. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


RUBEN DARIO 


997° 


The United States are rich, they’re power-| 
ful and great 

(They join the cult of Mammon to that of 
Hercules), 

And when they stir and roar, the very 
Andes shake. . . 


But our America, which since the ancient} 
qAGIES Ss. 

Has had its native poets; which lives on 
fire and light, 

On perfumes and on love; our vast America, 

The land of Montezuma, the Inca’s mighty 
realm, 

Of Christopher Columbus the fair America, 

America the Spanish, the Roman Catho- 
tres ae 

O men of Saxon eyes and fierce, barbaric| 
soul, 

This land still lives and dreams, and loves 
and stirs! 

Take care! 

The daughter of the Sun, the Spanish land, 

doth live! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANPROLOGY-: 


And from the Spanish lion a thousand 
whelps have sprung! 


|'Tis need, O Roosevelt, that you be God 


himself... 
Before you hold us fast in your grasping, 
iron claws. 


And though you count on all, one thing is 
lacking: God! 
—Elijah Clarence Hills. 


SONATINA 


|The Princess mourns—Why is the Princess 
sighing? 
Why from her lips are song and laughter 
dying? z 
Why does she droop upon her chair of 
gold? 
Hushed is the music of her royal bower; 
Beside her in a vase; a Single flower 
Swoons and forgets its petals to unfold. 


a” 


The fool in scarlet pirouettes and flatters, 
Within the hall the silly duefia chatters; 


HISPANIC:NOTES 


RUBEN DARIO 599 


Without, the peacock’s regal plumage 
gleams. 
The Princess heeds them not; her thoughts 
are veering 
Out through the gates of Dawn, past sight 
and hearing, 
Where she pursues the phantoms of her 
dreams. 


Ts it a dream of China that allures her, 
Or far Golconda’s ruler who conjures her 
But to unveil the laughter of her eyes?— 
He of the island realms of fragrant roses, 
Whose treasure flashing diamond hoards 
discloses, 
And pearls of Ormuz, rich beyond sur- 
mise? 


Alas! The Princess longs to be a swallow, 
To be a butterfly, to soar, to follow 
The ray of light that climbs into the sun; 
To greet the lilies, lost in Springtime 
wonder, : 
To ride upon the wind, to hear the thunder 
Of ocean waves where monstrous billows 
run. 


AND MONOGRAPHS ares 


600 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Her silver distaff fallen in disfavor, 
Her magic globe shorn of its magic savor, 
The swans that drift like snow across the 
lake, 
The lotus in the garden pool—are mourning; 
The dahlias and the jasmin flowers adorning 
The palace gardens, sorrow for her sake. 


Poor little captive of the blue-eyed glances! 

A hundred negroes with a hundred lances, 
A hound,.a sleepless dragon, guard her 

gates. ; 

There in the marble of her palace prison 

The little Princess of the roving vision, 

Caught in her gold and gauzes, dreams 

and waits. 


“Oh” (sighs the Princess), ‘‘Oh, to leave 
behind me 

My marble cage, the golden chains that 
bind me, 

The empty chrysalis the moth forsakes! 
To fly to where a fairy Prince is dwelling— 
O radiant vision past all mortal telling, 

Brighter than April, or the day that 
breaks!” 


HISPANIC NOTES 


Ee 


ee 


RUBEN DARIO 


“Hush, little Princess,”” whispers the good 
fairy, 
“With sword and goshawk; on his charger 
airy, 
The Prince draws near—the lover without 
blame. 
Upon his wingéd steed the Prince is 
fleeting, 
The conqueror of Death, to bring you 
greeting, 
And with his kiss to touch your lips to 
flame!” 
—John Pierrepont Rice. 


NIGHTFALL IN THE TROPICS 


There is twilight grey and gloomy 
Where the sea its velvet trails; 

Out across the heavens roomy 
Draw the veils. 


Bitter and sonorous rises 
The complaint from out the deeps, 
And the wave the wind surprises 
Weeps. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


602 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Viols there amid the gloaming 
Hail the sun that dies, 

And the white spray in its foaming 
“‘Miserere”’ sighs. 


Harmony the heavens embraces, 
And the breeze is lifting free 
To the chanting of the races 
Of the sea. 


Clarions of horizons calling 
Strike a symphony most rare, 

As if mountain voices calling 
Vibrate there. 


As though dread, unseen, were waking, 
As though awesome echoes bore 

On the distant breeze’s quaking 
The lion’s roar. 


—Thomas Walsh. 
CANCION OF AUTUMN IN SPRING- 
TIME 


Days of youth, my sacred treasure, 
Unreturning ye pass by!— 


HISPANIC NOTES 


RUBEN DARIO 


Would I weep?—no tears I measure;— 
Then my tears—I know not why!— 


My poor heart hath been divided 
In its days celestial here; 

There was a gentle maid, unguided 
Through this world’s affliction drear; 


Like the white dawn was her vision; 
Like the flower her gentle smile; 
And her dusky locks elysian 
Seemed of night and grief the style. 


I was but a lad unknowing,— 
She, as natural, would play 

Through my love’s fond ermine, showing 
Herodias and Salomé. 


Days of youth, my sacred treasure, 
Unreturning ye pass by!— 

Would I weep?—no tears I measure;— 
Then my tears,—I know not why!— 


There was another then, more tender, 
More sensitive, more subtly kind, 
More soothing, more delight to render 
Than ever I had thought to find; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


But ’neath her gentleness unceasing 
A violent passion was concealed 
And through her filmy robe releasing, 
A wild Bacchante was revealed. 


To breast she took my young ideal, 
And nursed it softly as a child; 

Then slew it, left it sad, unreal, 

Of all its light and trust defiled. 


~ 


Days of youth, my sacred treasure, 
Unreturning ye pass by!— 

Would I weep?—no tears I measure;— 
Then my tears—I know not why!— 


There was another took my kisses 
To be the casket of her flame; _ 

She laughed amid our wildest blisses,— 
Her teeth against my heart-strings came! 


Amid the maddest of her passion 
She looked across with wilful eyes.— 

As though our fond embrace could fashion 
The essence of eternal skies; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


RUBEN DARIO 


_|As though our fragile flesh were tying 
The boughs of endless Edens here; 
Unmindiful that with Springtime dying 

The joys of body disappear. 


Days of youth, my sacred treasure, 
Unreturning ye pass by!— 

Would I weep?—no tears I measure;— 
Then my tears—I know not why!— 


And all the others!” In how many 
Lands and climes,—they ever were' 

Pretexts for a rhyme,—or any 

Notion in my heart astir!— 


Vain my search for that high lady 

For whom I have awaited long. 
But life is hard and grim and shady,— 
There was no princess, save in song! 


In spite of Time’s unyielding measure, 
My thirst for love has never died,— 

My gray head bends to scent with pleasure 

The roses of the garden-side— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Days of youth, my sacred treasure, 
Unreturning ye pass by!— 

Would I weep—no tears I measure ;— 
Then my tears—I know not why!— 


Mine is still the Dawn of golden treasure!— 
—Thomas Walsh. 


PORTICO 


I am the singer who of late put by ; 
The verse azulean and the chant profane, 
Across whose nights a rossignol would cry 

And prove himself a lark at morn again. 


Lord was I of my garden-place of dreams, 
The heaping roses and swan-haunted 
brakes; 
Lord of the doves; lord of the silver streams, 
Of gondolas and lyres upon the lakes. 


And very eighteenth century; both old 
And very modern; bold, cosmopolite; 
Like Hugo daring, like Verlaine half-told, 

And thirsting for illusions infinite. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


RUBEN DARIO 


_ | From infancy, ’twas sorrow that I knew; 


My youth—was ever youth my own 
indeed?— 


_ {Its roses still their perfume round me strew, 


Their perfume of a melancholy seed— 


A reinless colt, my instinct galloped free, 
My youth bestrode a colt without a rein; 
Drunken I went, a belted blade with me; 
Tf I fell not—’ twas God who did sustain— 


Within my garden stood a statue fair, 
Of marble seeming yet of flesh and bone, 


dA gentle spirit was incarnate there 


Of sensitive and sentimental tone. 


_|So timid of the world, it fain would hide 


And from its walls of silence issue not, 
Save when the spring released upon its tide 
The hour of melody it had begot— 


The hour of sunset and the hidden kiss; 
The hour of gloaming twilight and 
retreat; 


_ |The hour of madrigal, the hour of bliss, 


Of “T adore thee” and ‘‘ Alas” too sweet. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


608 


IV 


HISPANIC°AN TAO reGyY: 


And ’mid the gamut of the flute, per- 
chance, 
Would come a ripple of crystal mysteries 
Recalling Pan and his old Grecian dance 
With the intoning of old Latin keys. 


With such a sweep and ardor so intense 
That on the statue suddenly were born 
The muscled goat-thighs shaggy and 

immense ; 
And on the brows the satyr’s pair of 
horn. 


As Gongora’s Galatea, so in fine 
The fair marquise of Verlaine captured 
me; 
And so unto the passion half divine 
Was joined a human sensuality; 


All longing, and all ardor, the mere sense 
And natural vigor; and without a 
sign 
Of stage effect or literature’s pretence— 
If there was ever soul sincere—’twas 
mine. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


RUBEN DARIO 


— 


The ivory tower awakened my desire; 
I longed to enclose myself in selfish bliss, 
Yet hungered after space, my thirst on 
fire 
For heaven, from out the shades of my 
abyss. 


As with the sponge the salt sea saturates 
Below the oozing wave, so was my heart 
Tender and soft, bedrenched with bitter 
fates 
That world and flesh and devil here 
impart. 


But, through the grace of God, my con- 
science 
Elected unto good its better part; 
If there were hardness left in any sense, 
It melted soft beneath the touch of Art. 


My intellect was freed from baser thought, 
My soul was bathed in the Castalian 
flood, 
My heart a pilgrim went, and so I caught 
The harmony from out the sacred wood. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


609 


IV 


610 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


O sacred wood! O rumor, that profound 

Stirs from the sacred woodland’s heart] — 

divine! 

O plenteous fountain in whose power is 
wound 

And overcome our destiny malign! 


Grove of ideals, where the real halts, 
Where flesh is flame alive, and Psyche 

floats; ; 7 

The while the satyr makes his old assaults, | 

Let Philomel loose her azure-drunken| 

throats. ' 


Fantastic pearl and music amorous ie 
A-down the green and flowering laurel] 
tops; | 
Hypsipyle stealthily the rose doth buss 
And the faun’s mouth the tender} 
stalklings crops. | 


There, where the god pursues the flyi 
maid, 
Where springs the reed of Pan from out, 
the mire, 3 


HISPANIC NOTES 


choir. 


| ( 
: The soul that enters there, disrobed should 
go 
_ A-tremble with desire and longing pure,| 
jOver the wounding spine and thorn) 
4 below,— 
So should it dream, be stirred, and sing 


‘|Life, Light, and Truth, as in a triple 
| flame | 
_| Produce the inner radiance infinite; 
_ | Art, pure as Christ, is heartened to exclaim:| 
“T am indeed the Life, the Truth, the| 
Light!” 

The Life is mystery; the Light is blind; 
The Truth beyond our reach both daunts | 
and fades; 
|The sheer perfection nowhere do we! 
. find; | 

The ideal sleeps a secret in the shades. 


I 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


611 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Therefore to be sincere is to be strong. 
Bare as it is what glitter hath the star; 

The water tells the fountain’s soul in song 

And voice of crystal flowing out afar. 


Such my intent was,—of my spirit pure 
To make a star, a fountain music-drawn, 
With horror of the thing called literature— 
And mad with madness of the gloam and 
dawn. 


From the blue twilight such as gives the 
word 
Which the celestial ecstasies inspire, 
The haze and minor chord,—let flutes be 
heard! . 
. Aurora, daughter of the Sun,—sound, 
lyres! 


Let pass the stone if any use the sling; 
Let pass, should hands of violence point 
the dart. 
The stone from out the sling. is for the 
waves a thing, 
Hate’s arrow of the idle wind is part. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


UBEN DARIO 613 


is with the tranquil and the brave; 
e fire interior burneth well and high; 
e triumph i is o’er rancor and the grave; 

_ Toward Bethlehem—the caravan goes 


—Thomas Walsh. 


| AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


614 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


IV 


LUIS G. URBINA 
(1867- ) 


THE MOONBEAM 


Luis G. URBINA is a Mexican poet of the 
modernist school, much of whose work has 
been inspired by the natural beauties of Cuba. 
His principal works are Poema del lago and 
Poema del Mariel. 


guest. 
’Tis long since I have seen thy silver 
flame. 
Although I left the casement open wide, 
Shadows alone into my chamber came. 


; 
, 
Moonbeam, come in! Thou art a welcome : 


Ungrateful comrade, thou art still the 
same— 

The beam transparent, gliding through the 
night, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


mets GG. URBINA 


The beauteous gleam of splendor from on 
high, 
Diaphanous with amber’s yellow light. 


Come in! She is not here; naught canst 
thou spy. 

Moonbeam, thou canst not now be indis- 
creet, 

Even if thou upon the nuptial couch 

Shouldst cast thy pearly radiance, clear 
and sweet. 


O’erflow the carpet like a glittering rain, 
Flood all the silent room from wall to wall, 
And, clinging to the darksome drapery, 
Give it the semblance of a silver shawl! 


See’st thou, all things are dusty and un- 
- kempt; 

The heart is chilled to view their mournful 
air. 

Upon the blackened nail the bird. cage 
hangs 

Empty and hushed; the songbirds are not 
there. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


615 


IV 


616 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


See’st thou, around the railing rough the 
vine 

Its faded blossoms wreathes; no flower we 
spy 

Upon the rose-tree; all the lilies now 

Are withered, the sweet basil plants are 
dry. 


Thou brightness indiscreet, from heaven 
above! 

She loved thee in the past: I love thee now. 

How often have I seen thy glimmering 
light 

Reflected from her pure and pensive brow! 


The girl with golden hair is here no more,— 
The dreamer, pale and white as ocean foam, 
Whosaid, as on thy shifting light she gazed, 
“It is the smile of God within our home!” 


Ungrateful comrade, only thou and I 


Are in this chamber, now a place of dole: 
Yet welcome, heavenly brightness indis- 
creet! 
If thou would’st see her, come into my soul! 
—Alice Stone Blackwell. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


BLANCO-FOMBONA 


RUFINO BLANCO-FOMBONA 
(1868- ) 


AT PARTING 


eee See S”rtC CCT 


RuFino BLAnco-FoMBONA is a Venezuelan 
poet whose political fortunes were bound up 
with those of President Cipriano Castro, who 
appointed him governor of the wild Territory 
of Amazonas. He was imprisoned by Presi- 
dent Gémez, and in later years has resided in 
Paris, associated with the Revista de América. 
His poems appeared in Pequena épera lirica 
(Paris, 1904) and Cantos de la prisién y del| 
destierro in 1911. He has also published an| 
annotated edition of the correspondence of | 
Bolivar the Liberator. 


See e——eEe———=—— ore. Cccrrl 


My love had known fifteen springs— 
I kissed, and I pressed to me 

Her lips like a flower, her chestnut hair, 
Beside a lyric sea. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


“Think of me; never forget, 
No matter where I may be!” 
—And I saw a shooting star 
Fall suddenly into the sea. 
—Muna Lee. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


= 


GOMEZ RESTREPO 


ANTONIO GOMEZ RESTREPO 
(1869- ) 


EYES 


ANTONIO GOMEZ REsSTREPO is a _ native 
Colombian, prominent in the life and national 
affairs of Bogota. Besides his own admirable 
work in poetry, he has edited for the Colom- 
bian Government the writings of Rafael 
Pombo (Bogota, 1917-18) and the work of 
Miguel Antonio Caro (Bogota, 1918). 


There are eyes so full of dreams 
That they show us scenes of yore; 
Eyes whose pensive glances pour 

Light of other skies and streams; 

Eyes of grief that nourish themes 
Dimly seen, as from the shore 
Halcyon wings that wander o’er 

Broken waves and clouded gleams. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANBEOLOG Y: 


Eyes there be whose sorrows fair 
Teach oblivion from the skies 
To the hearts whose cross is there; 
Eyes that sweet old gladness prize, 
Whose ethereal cloudings bear 
Stars from a lost Paradise. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


TOLEDO 


Perched on its yellow peak beneath a sky 
Inclement as of Africa, there lifts 
Toledo, with its brows of wrinkled rifts 

Crowned with the belfries of the long gone- 

by. 

The sacred city shuts its midday eye 
To take siesta ’mid the Orient wifts; 
Only from out the forge the rumor drifts 

Where on the sword-blade still the armorers 

ply. 


Deep in the choir’s ancient glooms, behind 
The Gothic lattices, there bends in 
prayer 
A pallid monk upon his ritual. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


And on the balcony outside there wind 

The garlanded carnations burning there 

Fresh as the lips love’s earliest sighs 
enthrall. 


—Thomas Walsh. 


THE GENERALIFE 


'|Alone it stands, an idle heap of dust, 
| The dreamland Arab palace on its hill; 
_ And should Boabdil, its old lord, come 
? still, 
\His grief would find an equal in its rust. 
he sweet Granada spring herself doth 
trust 
Ungrudging here, and her green charms 
fulfil; 
The fountains play, and dream would 
i have its will 
Over the perfumes spilled on every gust. 


\ 


Who in this gracious tower-retreat, remote, 

Could muse an hour upon the languid 
charm 

Of beauty and the smiling thought of 

love, 


| AND MONOGRAPHS 


622 


7 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


a 


And find not through his drowsy senses| 
float - 
Another voice that sounds the soft alarm 
Of tears, as in the nightingale’s full] 
throat? | 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


| JOSE MARIA GABRIEL 


623 


(1870-1908) 
TO A RICH MAN 


'|Prades de la Sierra, Salamanca, Spain. He 
|gave his life to school-teaching and farming, 
|He enjoys great popularity among the 
|Spanish peoples for his sincere and powerful 
|singing of the simpler things of life. His 
'|Obras completas (Madrid-Sevilla, 1909) have 


Where did you get this money and estate? 
| °Twas by your labor honestly acquired, 
{Or left you when your relatives expired, 
|Else it is robber’s booty, miser’s bait. 
‘That which you give the beggar at your 
gate 

| Is noble if your arms to get it tired; 

| If ’twas a legacy, ’tis nobly squired, 

i! f twas a theft—good sir, your pride abate! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


Ss 


IV 


624 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


I once beheld a wolf that from his feast 
Unto a starving cur the bones released 
When he himself was gorged and sated} 
through; 
So thou, rich glutton, drop the leavings 
there, . 
And let the pauper have the mongrel’s 
share,— 
Unless the wolf be kinder still than 
you—? ; 
—Thomas Walsh. 


THE LORD 


In the name of God—who shall open— 
I close the doors of my ancestral dwell- 
ing— 
closing my life out from the horizons, © 
closing my God as in a temple! 


Oh, there is need of a heart of stone, 
blood of hyenas, and a breast of steel, 
to speak the farewells that in my throat 
are struggling from my brooding breast.| 


Oh, there is need of a martyr’s lips 
to meet today 


HISPANIC FN@tes 


| JOSE MARIA GABRIEL 


| the icy chalice trembling in my hold 
| beneath my clouded eyes of hope.— 


Now is the house deserted; 

| the elders silently have stolen forth; 

4 alone it is for me to seek the loving 
Christ, 

there with His arms stretched wide— 

—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


i 


626 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


AMADO NERVO 
(1870-1919) 
TRANSLUCENCY 


Amapo NERVO was a prolific poet of Mexico, 
much of whose life was passed in France 
and other partsof Europe. His Perlas negras 
and Misticas reveal the hidden character of 
the man, whose later poems took on a patriotic 
tone not so artistically effective. 


Tama pensive soul. Do you know 
What a pensive soul is?—Sad, 

But with that cool 

Melancholy 

Of all soft 

Translucencies.—All that exists, 
Turning diaphanous, is serene and sad. 


A Sabine pilgrim 
Beholds in the quick 
Transparencies of the voicy water 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


Amado Nervo 


‘“AMADO NERVO - 


e fugitive 


cloud, making a twin of its image, a 
cloud 
oats on the fountains, rises on high. 


|God, in deep silences, God 
|Sees Himself in the mirror of Himself— 
if 


Life knocks at the door : 
|Like a wild woman who wastes her| 
| nights: 
j—“Open to me! It is time! 
You singers, listen 
|To the external noises!” 
\' Open and listen 
11 To the external voices! . . .” 


My soul does not hear her, my senses are. 
| asleep, 
My soul and my senses are slumbering 


deep. 


| 
| 
| 


_ HISPANIC NOTES 


IV 


HISPANI© ANTHOLOGY: 


The river’s sin is in its flowing; 

Quietness, my soul, 

Is the wisdom 

Of the fountain. 

The stars fear 

To be shipwrecked in the perennial turmoil 

Of water curling in spirals: 

When the wave is in ecstasy, the stars| 
people its crystals. 


Conscience, 

Be clear; 

But with that rare 
Inconsistency : 
Of all projections on a mirror. 
To importunate Life, return 

Only a reflection 

Of its furtive passage in the moonlight. 


Soul, become deep; 
That flower and foliage 
May print on you their fugitive trace; _ 
That star and hirsute cloud 

‘May mistake their route 

And in your clear stretches find 

A divine prolonging of their own abyss. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


tel i 


AMADO NERVO 


So, by the virtue of a singular fortune, 
The infinite and you will be the same. 
—Ernest F. Lucas. 


THE CORTEGE 


I march in a cortége perpetual— 

I, part of the cortége;—my footsteps fall 
Behind the Sacrament that leads ahead 
Into the temple. Are our minds at 


one—? 
Or individual—; Does the same sun 
Light allp—O Lord!—what trifling prayers 
we said !— 


I march in a cortége perpetual,— 
Not knowing if my death shall end it all. 
Or if through other cycles I am led; 
Where with an exile’s footsteps I shall go 
Through dusty roads forever,—or shall 
know, 

O humble pilgrim, at the end, instead, 
Thy grateful shoulder bending low 
Where my last rest is spread. 

: —Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


631 


632 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


MYSTICAL POETS 


Bards of brow funereal 
With your profiles angular 
As in ancient medals grand, 


Ye with air seignorial, 
Ye whose glances lie afar, 
Ye with voices of command; 


Theologians grave and tried, 
Vessels of love’s meted grace, 
Vessels full of sorrows found. 


Ye who gaze with vision wide, 
Ye whose Christ is in your face, _ 
Ye in tangled locks.enwound,— 


My Muse—a maid marmoreal 
Who seeks oblivion as her star, 
Can find alone her raptures fanned 


Amid your air seignorial, 
Amid your glance that lies afar, 
Amid your voices of command. 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


\M 'y soul that doth your spirits trace 
| Behind the incense’s rising tide, 
Within the nave’s calm shadow ground. 


| Hath loved your sweep of vision wide, 
Hath loved your tangled locks en- 
wound. 


—Thomas Walsh. 


ALLEGRO VIVACE 


Listen, O child of woe, 
What is the band below 
Starting to play? 
Where the great halls aglow 
Gladness betray? 


Let us begin the dance, 
Waltz in a dizzy trance ;— 
Madame, the pleasure?— 
In the mad whirl to prance 
To the wild measure! 


Waltzing and spinning, | 
In lovely beginning | 
To twirl to the brink; 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


634 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


With a kiss at the inning 
Ere deathward we sink! 


Paolo, thy memory,— 

Thine too, Francesca, be 
Clear in my mind; 

Wild be our dance and free, 
Dizzy and blind!— 


Waltzing and spinning, 
In lovely beginning 
To twirl to the brink; 
With a kiss for our sinning 
Ere deathward we sink! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


a ale 


BALBINO DAVALOS 635 


BALBINO DAVALOS 
(1870- ) 


MY GLORY 


BALBINO DAVALOs was born in the city of 
Colima, Mexico: He was one of the favorite 
contributors to the Revista Azul and entered 
the diplomatic career, serving as secretary of 
the Mexican embassy at Washington, London, 
and Lisbon. He has translated much of the 
poetry of the Greeks, and English, German, 
and Italian poets. 


The azure of thine eyes, the crimson glow 
Upon thy lips, thine ambrous locks, thy 
cheek 
With wondrous texture of white lilies,— 
show 
Where for his honey my soul’s bée may 
seek. 


Thy smile with all the fulness of its grace, 
Its witchery benign and generous,— 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


636 


The silvery fall thy laughter’s courses| 
trace, ce 

In sweeping pearl and crystal tremu- 
lous,— 


Thy full surrender to my arms and kiss, 
Thine humbleness before my passion’s 
claim,— 

What glory can life give me more than this,|_ 
My treasure, my ambition’s utmost aim!| _ 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LOS HERMANOS QUINTERO 637 


SERAFIN AND JOAQUIN ALVAREZ| 


: QUINTERO 
Cr) a 
(1873- ) 


PATRIA CHICA OR OLD ANDALUSIA 


THE brothers Serafin and Joaquin Alvarez 
Quintero, were born at Utrera, near Seville, 
and have earned a commanding position in 
Spanish letters through their success in a long 
series of plays. Their poems are marked 
by great finish and dash. They are much 
admired as poets. 

Of all Spain I’m the Don! 

I hail from the opulent region 
Of wine and of sun! 

To build me a castle of fancy 

I but need a cigar; 

To take for a day to my pillow, 
A touch of catarrh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


638 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


I’m a general—I that can conquer 

Without cannon or frays; 

I plan every winning maneuver 

While I sit in cafés. 

I’m a Turk with my wine without water— 

But Inquisitor too; 

I am off to the bulls in the plaza 

When the sermons are through. 

“ Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus” — 

As I thump at my breast; 

“Senor presidente,—a word to your honor, 

’Gainst this bull I protest!”— 

There’s no time for repining, 

For of Spain I’m the Don! 

I hail from the opulent region 

Where they barter and barter forever, 
for seats in the shade and the sun! 

—Thomas Walsh. 


AT THE WINDOW 


Within the little street the shadows hide, 
And there a lattice wears a garden smile; 
There is a rose behind its grate, the while 

A faithful gallant makes his court outside. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


re Ss 


LOS HERMANOS QUINTERO 


The happy pair lets not a thought divide 
The love that holds them in its honeyed 
wile; 
She at the grating joys without a guile; 
He at his post with ne’er a woe is tried. 


Night spreads her veil o’er both; with 
chatter bright 
And laughter free they pass the hours 
away, 
Breathing in love their mutual delight; 
If to that lover you, perchance, would 
say: 
“| give you heaven for your place tonight, ”’ 
He’d answer, ‘‘ Heaven is here and here I 
stay!” 
—Thomas Walsh. 


ABA NICO 


Thy fan is as a butterfly 
Upon thy fingers lighted 
Since nowhere else it could espy 
A rose to take its loving eye 
Until thy hand it sighted. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


640 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


ENRIQUE GONZALEZ MARTINEZ 
(1875 a) 


THROTTLE THE SWAN 


ENRIQUE GONZALEZ MARTINEZ was born at 

Guadalajara, Mexico. He became a professor| 
of physiology and a politician. His poetry 
represents the full revolt against European| 
affectations among American poets, and he’ t 
urges ‘‘that the swan’s neck be wrenched,”} 
intending an attack on the merely decorativ | 
writers. He is greatly admired ihronehems 7 
Spanish America. 


f 


Wring the neck of the lying-feathered| 
swan 

That gives a white note to the fountain’s 
blue: 

Its prettiness is well enough, but on 

The soul of things it can’t say much to} 
you. 


| 


HISPANIC NOTES 


YZALES —— 641 


eth ddecp life's latent rhythm “ 
‘not live; . 

y Life itself adore with passion, 
d make Life feel the homage that you! _ 


give. 


erve the sober owl that takes his flight 
m the Olympian refuge Pallas made, 
gets himself in silence to that tree. 
nough he has no swan’s grace, you can 
oe 
5 restless profile sharp against the shade. 
reting the mystery of night. 

—Muna Lee. 


a | 
THE PRAYER OF THE BARREN ROCK) 


Lord, round my brow the winds of heaven 
are hurled, 

_ Under the burning sun I bend my head; 
The cloud that passes, like a bird is 
_ sped 

Forth to another world. 


AND MONOGRAPHS | Iv 


642 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


I know the Winter blasts that freeze and 
sting, 
The long monotony of Summer rain; 
My eyes upturned to heaven implore in 
vain 
The miracle of Spring. 


No forests crowd upon my barren crest, 
No singing streams of water, running 
bright 
Through beds of’ moss and drowsy 
flowers, invite 
The traveller to rest. 


But even as spectres in their tombs awake, 
Haunted by dreams of paradise denied, 
My dull heart stirs, and in my soul I hide} 

A thirst I may not slake. 


My feet are buried in the mountain height, 
My feet are chained; my hope soars to| 
the sky. | 

Men know me not, like strangers they 
pass by 

My prison bars of light. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


GONZALES MARTINEZ 


643 


And since I am denied the friendly flowers, 
The fragrant beds of moss, the singing 
stream, 
Lord, let the nesting eagles mate and 
scream 
Above my mountain towers. 


Yet by my loneliness would I express, 
As in a symbol, that exalted mood 
Which in impassioned, godlike solitude 

Finds everlastingness. 

—John Pierrepont Rice. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


644 


JOSE JUAN TABLADA 
(1871 Sa 


PRE-RAPHAELITISM 


José JuAN TABLADA was born in Mexico City. 
He has given his whole life to politics and 
letters. He has also contributed widely to] 
the reviews and has published E/ Florilegio 
(Mexico, 1899) Florilegio (Paris, 1904), El 
sol y bajo la luna (1917). 


You have the grace that through a book of 
hours 
Some patient monk enscrolls on vellum} 
fair; 
Or in the imaged dawn and sunset bowers 
Your figure shines in holy windows rare. 
Your parted locks are radiance round your 
brow; 
White hosts and lilies are upon your] 
cheek; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


Your forehead bears the starlight’s crown- 
; ing glow; 

_ Behind you, peacock wings of splendor 
speak. 


Your hands two lilies fold upon your 
breast 
Veiled as two lovely and half-hidden 
flowers; 
Cherubs with timbrels round your feet are 
pressed, 
And angels lost amid their viol’s powers. 
Thus as in some mysterious triptych 
framed, 
Your face adown from other ages shines; 
‘|Thus ’mid the gleam of some mosaic, 
. flamed 
_ With gold and purples, rise your beauty’s 
shrines. 


'|Soaring aloft to heaven in Gothic spires 
Beyond the shadowed cypress groves on 
high, 
Surge from my dream the old Chartreuse’s 
| choirs 
_ Where you were virgin, and the abbot, I. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


645 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Putting aside my beads of olive worn, 
My hands grew anxious for the brush 
and paint; 
Light from my ogive windowed cell was 
borne; 
The halls with laurel shadows were] 
acquaint. 
There from the stroke of dawn, the sacred 
hour 
Of Eucharistic joy, until the bell 
Of Angelus enswathed the cloister bower 
With the vague sadness of its evening 
spell, 


I painted in a fever mystical 
Thy breast’s enchantment all in aureole; 
Decking your robe with gems purpureal, 
Forming your face of hosts and roses 
whole. ; 
And as I worked upon your gentle smile 
And taught your forehead fairer, whiter 


words, 
From out a cornice spoke to me the 
while 
The singing voices of Saint Francis’ 
birds. 


HISPANITG G2. 


E JUAN TABLADA 


y heavenly blues, my lilies all in 
nec 


| _— choir 

_ Where you were virgin, mine the Abbot’s 
_——s:power!— 

Today is dead, the Umbrian lily, dead! 


fled, 


|} _—s remain; 

The bitter etching of his grief hath fed 

| Upon the red blood of his heart’s last 
4 —Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


my habit white! My Gothic spire! 


loneliness for that old Chartreuse| 


m off the friar’s palette light hath| 


Nor doth the slightest gleam of joy| 


| 


647 


648 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


| RAMON PIMENTEL CORONEL 
(1872-1909) 


JESUS 


RAMON PIMENTEL CORONEL was born in Cara- 
cas, Venezuela, being at the time of his death, 
Venezuelan Consul at Hamburg, Germany. 
His poetry, which is well known in his native| — 
country, has never been collected. 


Dear Sons of God,—of Him whom Sinai 
saw 

Mid rolling thunders trace the road of 
Right, 

Clear carven on the tables of the Law, 

A road, rough cast or smooth, for day and] 
night. 


I come not from My Father to enslave, 
But with the lamp of knowledge that ye} 
crave, 


IV 


HISPANTE NOEs 


| PIMENTEL CORONEL | 649 


|To hear the prayers of those who grace 
implore, 
Drying wet eyes and soothing bosoms sore; 
Yea, dying on the Cross the world to 
' save. 


Behold the King- of whom the Prophet 
told! 
The Son of God—Messiah—see in Me. 
I quench the flame and quiet down the 
sea, 
I guide the child and help the weak and 
old! 


| 


Tf to a stiffened corpse my cry “Arise 

And live again” be spoken, 

Look where the cere-cloth fallen lies, 

And death’s cold seal upon the tomb is 
broken. 


No kingly robe I wear; no golden sceptre 
bear; 
No haughty frontlet can My brows endure; 
|Love and the lowly heart My treasures 
rare; 
My law, the law of all the good and pure.— 


AND MONOGRAPHS a bi 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Mine is the army of the worn and sad, 
Beaten by sun and wind, 

No spearsmen have I in brave armor clad, 
Yet thus I come to rule mankind! 


The works that smile to God as things of 
worth 

Can lend no glow to the satanic Hest 

Strike down the things of evil at their 
birth, 

And stifle in your soba talde base desires. 


Let little children gather at My knees; 

Their snow-white innocence shall be 

The garb of those who mount to Heaven 
with Me. 

Verily I say, be ye as one of these! 


Drive from your soul the vengeful thought; 

Vengeance is His who rules the realms 
above, 

Give good for evil that your foe has 
wrought; 

I am the Lord of Hope, the Lord of 

Love! 


HISPANTEC NODES 


PIMENTEL CORONEL 


Do good, do good, but free of vaunt or boast, 
Without vainglorious show, | 
So that of which your right hand knows the| 

cost, | 


Your left hand shall not know. 


—— 


-— = § 


| 
No golden key of wealth may ope the door | 
Of God’s great temple in the heavenly| 
mead; 
Yea, I who give you precepts, go before, 
To give example of the deed; 


Behold Me humbled and a-hungered, poor;| 

The fishes have their homes beneath the! 
waves, ~ | 

The birdling holds his downy nest secure,| 

The wild things of the forest have their| 
caves, 

The insect has its place of lure... . 


a SS 


Jesus alone 
Who comes from sin to bring release 
And free man’s life from dread, 
Preaching the faith of poverty and peace, | 
Yea, Jesus, Son of God, has not a stone 
Whereon to lay His head! 

—Joseph I. C. Clarke. 


Oe ae ae a eee ee ee 


— 27 =e 


AND MONOGRAPHS | 


651 


IV 


HISPANIC ANPHOLOG Y:3 


GUILLERMO VALENCIA 
(1872ooep 


SURSUM 


GUILLERMO VALENCIA is a native of Popa- 
yan, Cauca, Colombia, and stands high in| 
the estimation of South American critics as 
a poet. A short experience in politics was] 
followed by his withdrawal to a literary 
career in his native city. His Ritos were 
published in London in 1914. See also the 
article by Baldomero Sanin Caro in La Re- 
vista de America (1913, vol. i, pp. 126-36). 


A pallid taper its long prayer recites 
Before the altar, where the censers| 
spread 
Their lifting clouds, and bells toll out 
their dread, 
In grief’s delirious sanctuary rites. 
There—like the poor Assisian—invites 


HISPANIC NOTES 


UILLERMO VALENCIA 


f. 


|G 

| A cloistered form the peace All Hal- 
| lowéd; 

i Against the dismal portals of the dead 
[Resting his wearied brows for heavenly 
| 


flights. 


|Grant me the honey-taste of the Divine; 
Grant me the ancient parchments’ meee 
sign 
Of holy psalmody to read and prize! 
For I would mount the heights immortal 
crowned, 
-|Where the dark night is ’mid the glories 
drowned, 
And gaze on God, into His azure eyes! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


THE TWO BEHEADINGS 


| Omnis plaga tristitia cordis est et omnis 
malitia nequitia mulieris —Ecclesiastes. 


JUDITH AND HOLOFERNES 


(THESIS) 


White and round were the breasts that 
subtly stirred 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


653 


IV 


HISPANIC. ANTHOLOG Ya 


And shone in rhythm with the Hebrew’s 
tread, 
Waking the murmurous harmonies of the 
red 
Of rubies and the cincture’s starlight gird. 
Her lip’s two jacinths made of every word - 
A vase of lurking essence harvested; 
Her flesh a treasury with honey fed; 
Her cheeks by tear or pallor yet unblurred. 


Stretched on his sandal couch the Assyrian 
Lay prone, the while the uncertain shadows 
ran 
Lugubrious patterns from the torch’s 
glow; 
And she, as in his sloth he slumbered there, 
Lone and inscrutable, the sword laid bare, 
Made ready in the darkness for her blow. 


As the sleek tigress crouches in the vine, 
So Israel’s daughter for the deed pre- 
pared; 
Then, the sheer blade in silent fury 
bared, 
She clave the head from the great form 
supine. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


a ae 


GUILLERMO VALENCIA 


In floods, as from some broken jar of wine, 
The sudden stream broke round her, as 
she dared, 
A murderess amid the crimson snared, 
_ |To raise on high her haggard countersign. 


In the blank eyes, the bloodless cheek, 
the beard 
Entangled in the blackened moist that 
clung 
In baleful knots of shadow where the 
white 
Steel bit the ripened pomegranate as it 
seared ,— 
The trunkless head amid the darkness 
hung, 
A rose unhallowed in the bowers of night. 


SALOME AND JAOKANANN 
(ANTITHESIS) 


A woman and a serpent formed in one, 
The dancer Salomé swung round and 
round 
Lasciviously unto the crotals’ sound, 
Her body bared in perfumed unison. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


Pee Ss 


656 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY; 


All of the Orient through her dance was 

spun, 
Pacings that fire the sleeping blood to 

bound, 

Or bow to earth the human despot 
crowned, 

And leave life flowerless and the soul 
undone. 


His eyes inflamed within his parchment 
face, 

The ghastly Tetrarch leans him from his| 

place 

Upon the fair one, murmuring in his} 

greed: 

“For thy lips’ honey, my Tiberiades!”—| 

And she: “Keep thy dead cities; on my] 

knees {| 

Grant me the Esenian’s head mine eyes} 

to feed!” 


As the swift wind amid an ancient wood, 
So passion through the aged Tyrant) 
played; 

His eyes gave signal; the great slave} 
obeyed 


HISPANIC NOTES 


Whose gleaming sword against his muscles 
‘ stood. 
Vast was the silence as the Just Man’s 
blood 
| Burst in a scarlet stream beneath the 
blade; 
Then Antipas signed to have the salver 
laid 
Before the siren in her bestial mood. 


A light immortal gleaming from afar 

{Lit with the radiance of a dying star 

The martyr’s pallid lips and -marble 

brows; 

_|And like the foam of some death-brooding 

1 deep, 

The holy head all bloodless seemed to keep 

_ The breath of myrrh as from the censer 
blows. 


THE WorD oF Gop 
(SYNTHESIS) 


{When Jonathan the Rabbin (incarnate 
: The soul and body of all Bible lore) 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC’ ANG rere G yy. 


My poem heard,—his lips were smiling for 
The thought he from the Inspired Text 
would state. 
“To womankind,”’ he said, “trust not your 
fate; 
She breedeth madness; she is mandra- 
gore; 
Drink of her cup, your conscience lives 
no more, 
Your songs are done, your roads are deso- 


1» 


late! 


And more he added, “‘ Yet withhold your 


fear; 
Woman, man’s ancient enemy, is here 
Among us flaming like a comet dread; 


She cleanses earth from love that is but vice,| _ 


And makes—to ease her burning thirst— 
suffice 
The very dews the wounds of martyrs 
shed.” 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIG NOT 


MANUEL MACHADO 
(1874- Ss) 
THE HIDALGO 


-}ManveL Macuapo was born at Seville. He 
jis noted for very fine technical qualities, as 
-|shown in his volumes, Alma, Museo, and Can- 
|tares (1907). 


|In Flanders, Italy and Franche-Compté 
And Portugal he made his twelve 
campaigns; ‘ 
| Now he is forty, and in all the Spains 
'|He is the oldest soldier, so they say. 
| Retired with honors, now he passes through 
The arches of the plaza, solemnly, 

The sunlight shedding native glory due 
| Unto his medals—stately champion he!— 


aiming the battlefield of Nancy still 
As lost but at the Duke of Alba’s will;— 
is daughter’s hand refusing haughtily 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


\E 
f 
| 


659 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


To rich Don Bela’s scant nobility ;— 
Telling his deeds of prowess on a scroll 
To Olivares for the pension roll. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


ADELFOS 


I am like all who from my country hail— 
Of Moorish blood, close ancients of the} 
sun,— 
Who have gained all uh losing all have 
failed. 
Firm is the soul we Arab-Spaniards| 
won. 


My longings died one night beneath the 
moon ~a 
Wherein I learned neither to dream or 
love; 
My one ideal, disillusioned swoon;— 
And now and then a woman’s kiss to 
prove. , 


| Within my soul, a sister of the night, 


There are no labyrinths; my passion’s 
rose 


HISPANIC NOTES 


| MANUEL MACHADO 


Ts but a simple flower, exotic, quite 
Without a perfume, form, nor colored 
shows. 


es,—why not give them? Glory?— 
What belongs. 
Their atmosphere be my full breath 
awake! 
|Let the waves drive or draw me in their 
thongs,— 
_ But never force me any path to take! 


Ambition!—None of that! Love I know 
not. 
I burn not e’er for faith or gratitude. 
Mine was a vague desire for art—now half- 
forgot. 
No vice controls me, though I seek not 
good. 


|My aristocracy no man can doubt; 
} One gains not, one inherits blazon- 
ment; 

|But the devise ancestral is rubbed out 

| To a poor blur; the sun eclipse hath 
sent. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


: tity aes a io? 


662 | HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


I ask you nought, nor love you, nor would| 
hate; 
Letting you pass, pray do for me the 
same. 

Let life itself arrange my mortal fate; 
As for myself, I shall not take the 
blame. 


My longings died one night beneath the 

moon : 

Wherein I learned neither to dream or| 
love. 

From time to time a kiss—a simple boon 

Of generous lips—that seek no more to! 

prove! 


—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


NTONIO MACHADO 


663 


(1879- ) 
COUNSELS 


= ONIO MACHADO is a younger brother of the 
poet Manuel Machado. He was born at 
ille and is distinguished in his Soledades 
903) and Campos de Castilla (1912) for 

reat simplicity and force. 
} 


earn how to hope, to wait the proper 
tide— ae 

_ As on the coast a bark—then part with- 

® out a care; 

|He who knows how to wait wins victory for 

ies, --bride; 

| For lite is long and art a plaything there. 

|But should your life prove short 

| And never come a tide, 

| Wait still, unsailing, hope is on your side 

Art may be long or, else, of no import. 

—Thomas Walsh. 


ANTONIO MACHADO 


8 


-_ AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


LEOPOLDO LUGONES 
(1874-—) 


HOW THE MOUNTAINS TALK 
(From Gesta magna) 


LEOPOLDO LuGONEs, recently editor of the 
Revue Sud-Amerique, was born at Cordoba, 
Argentina. His earlier poems appeared in 
Montafas del oro and Crepiusculos del jardin. 
Later he published Lunario sentimental. 


One day to Tupungato came a sound from] 


far away, 
Of waves or of battalions, rolling up- 
wards to the height. 
It rose from out the forests deep upon the} 
swelling slopes 
To mighty Tupungato, mountain of} 


craters white. 


Who from his veins pours waterfalls, whose} 
peak is like a lance, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


LEOPOLDO LUGONES 


Submerged in dawnlight when the sun, 
with eye of blazing gold, 

Looks from that giant balcony of heaven 
to explore 

The moveless host of granite rocks, far 
stretching, manifold. 


And Tupungato, turret of the winds, the 
home of storms, 
White like a pillow vast whereon the 
age-long dreams repose 
Of countless generations—he lifted up his 
voice, 
And all the world around him heard; the 
sea, which darkly flows, 


The forests where on stormy nights the 
wind wakes deep laments, 
The green plains, wrinkled over with 
cattle where they spread. 
In his great voice, unwonted for a thousand 
years to speak, 
He called to Chimborazo: ‘Be on the 
watch!” he said. 


'|Asleep was Chimborazo. Dead pride of 
conquered faiths, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY;| 


The vanquished, lost religions, that 
hoary grandsire now 
Was but a corpse, mute, motionless, a pillar 
of the sky, 
Above a waste of ruin lifting a silent} 
brow. : 


He let a hundred winters make white his 
shoulders broad, 
And in his beard the condors nest, and 
rear their fledgings there. 
In vain the stormy hurricane plucked with| 
its wild, fierce hand 
At the enormous cataract of his white- 
flowing hair. . 


The roots of oak trees pierced his sides; 
the sunsets and the dawns | 
Spread o’er his grim and savage pride} 
their colors delicate. | 
That summit in the distance was terrible| 
to see! 
When a cloud nimbus veiled his rest, he} 
seemed to meditate. 


Perhaps the clouds that floated around} 
him were his thoughts. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


—_ LUGONES 


_ The tempests talked to him, the winds 
hurled at him insults deep, 

And in her blooming purity the Dawn upon 

him smiled. 

_ The giant kept the silence of disdain. 

He was asleep. 


But when he heard the cry that stirred the 
mountains far and near, 

| He lifted from his eyes their veil of 

| hoary lashes white; 

|He looked and saw the glaciers of the 

| mighty mountain chain 

| All flushed and shining, gilded with an 

i ecstasy of light; 


The ocean calm, the cloudless day, just 
breaking, diamond clear; 

| The caravans of trees far off, outlined 

| o’er vale and hill; 

|And yonder, almost at his feet, the great 


| fire of the sun. 
| 


| 
] 
| 
\\ 


_ All things were swimming in its light, 
and all was hushed and still. 


The frosty summits mingled the outlines 
of their backs 


i 
ec 
| 
| 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


667 


IV 


668 |HISPANIC’ AN P@eaOVvOGcy, 


Like sheep that journey in a flock, upon 
a long march led. 
The sky its cup inverted above the picture 
fair— 
And to the stern, steep mountain the 
lofty mountain said: 


“T hear a sudden tempest approaching 
through the vales; 
It sweeps on, roaring. It would seem 
the sea is drawing nigh! 
The trees are bending, dust-clouds vast 
rise from the troubled plains; 
Black, shapeless masses surge along, a} 
torrent wild and high.” 


The other mountain answered and said, 
“Tt is the wind.” 
Heavy with sleep, his brow he veiled} 
among the clouds once more. 
But Tupungato reared his head far up-| 
wards to behold 
The cause of that broad galloping the} 
mountain echoes bore. 


Higher it came, all streaked with flame,| 
that sparkled in the sun. 


HISPANTO 3NOte 


669 


“mountain on his shoulder huge 
_ lifted the arching sky; 

saw, and spake: “’Tis not the wind. 
_ He fancies that in vain!” 
He said to Chimborazo, “’Tis God who 


eae Py! 


| 
| 


8 No, it is Freedom! Bronze and steel 

| ya have crowned her brow with stars. 

| The flashes glitter keen and bright, far 

b shining in the sun!” 

!Then Chimborazo raised his voice above. 

| i the deep abyss, 

| And, with a crash of breaking rocks, 

replied, “‘The two are one!” 

—Alice Stone Blackwell. | 
| 


THE GIFT OF DAY 


nid the glory of the sun, the world 
mn tremble lifts in tossing clouds and blue 
1M elodious architraves, with towers un- 
a furled 

| Like festal banners to the daylight’s) 
i © view. 


AND MONOGRAPHS | 


IV 


670 


IV 


i tp Aa 
ee. eee 
op 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY; 


t 


Afar prophetic, sounds the cock’s loud call| 
Hierophant before the gates of light; 

Amid his radiant canticle stirs all 
His emerald plumage in its joyous might.| 


And every little pebble shines with gold; | 
The harvest fields exhale their fragrant] 
heat; 
Swept are the woods with waves of 
shadows old;— 

Day is like bread, a blessing clean and| 
sweet. 

_ —Garret Strange. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE SANTOS CHOCANO 
(1875-—) 


THE MAGNOLIA 


on account of the revolutionary activities 
|celebrated in his volume Iras santas of 1894. 


Jism throughout the south, influencing not 
_jonly the later poems of Dario, but most of 
the younger writers of Spanish America. 


'|Deep in the wood, of scent and song the 
; daughter, 
_ Perfect and bright is the magnolia born; 
'|White as a flake of foam upon still 
: ; j water, 
| White as soft fleece upon rough brambles 
( torn. 


| AND MONOGRAPHS 


672 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY;| 


Hers is a cup a workman might have 
fashioned 
Of Grecian marble in an age remote. 
Hers is a beauty perfect and impassioned, 
As when a woman bares her rounded| 
throat. 


There is a tale of how the moon, her lover, 

Holds her enchanted by some magic 

spell; 

Something about a dove that broods above! 
her, 

Or dies within her breast— I cannot tell. 


I cannot say where I have heard the story, 
Upon what poet’s lips; but this I know: 
Her heart is like a pearl’s, or like the glory 
Of moonbeams frozen on the spotless 
snow. 
—John Pierrepont Rice. 


ODA SELVAJE 


Woods of my fathers, sovereign deity, 
To whom the Incas and the Aztecs bowed, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JJOSE SANTOS CHOCANO 


I stand and greet you from the trembling 
&. sea 
| That like some white-haired slave before a 
| queen, 
_|With allits shining foam, fawns at your feet. 
| I greet you from the sea above aynEse 
| combers 

|Your heavy perfumes break upon the 
; wind; 

Behind them tower your mutilated trunks! 
And beckon me to the Americas. | 

I greet you from the sea that woos you 
still, 
|Like some wild chieftain with disheveled 
locks, 
|Knowing that from your undeciphered 
heart 
\Is born the hollow ship that scars its face 
|And mocks its depths with straining keel 
and sail, 

Woods of my fathers, sovereign deity, 
To whom the Incas and the Aztecs bowed, 
_|I stand and greet you from the shining sea. 


| I turn to you and feel my soul set free: 
|Forgotten is the stress of modern ways. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY; 


I have become for very sight of you, 

Like one of your wise tribal patriarchs, 

Who slept of old upon your tender grass, 

And drank the milk of goats and ate their 
bread 

Sweetened with honey of the forest bee. 

I look on you and I am comforted, 

For the thick ranks of all your tufted trees 

Recall to me how centuries ago 

With twice. ten thousand archers at my| 
heels, 

I led the way to where the mountains 
smoke 

And lift their craters from the shores of| 
lakes: 

And how, at length, I wandered to the 
realm 

Of the great Inca, Yupanqui, and went, 

Following him upon the mountain tops, 

Down to Arauco and its peaceful slopes, 

And rested in a tent of condors’ wings. 

I look on you and I am comforted, 
Because the centuries have marked me out 
To be your poet, and to raise the hymns 
Of joy and grief, that in heroic dawns 
The Cuzco smote upon his lyre of stone— 


HISPANIC NOTES 


i ‘Legends of Aztec Emperors and songs 

Of bold Palénkes and Tahuantistiyos, 
| Vanished like Babylon from off this earth. 

Bi 

_ Here in your presence, with your savage 
spell 
|Leaping in all my veins, the centuries 

| Lift like a vision from the abyss of time 
|And pass before me in unfading youth. 
| So I evoke the ages still unformed 

|That saw your first tree burst its bonds of 
| stone, 

{And all the others headlong on its track, 

With the ordained disorder of the stars. 

‘ f So I evoke the endless chain of time, 

Of creeping growth and slow monotony, 
|That passed before your roots were fired 
| with sap, 

‘And all your trunks took form beneath 
their bark; 

And all the knots of every branch were 


: cage 
_ |For singing birds—fantastic orchestra—, 


| AND MONOGRAPHS 


676 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:]| 


Above whose din the fickle mocking-bird 
Pours its strange song; and only one is| 

mute: 
The solemn queizal, that in silence flaunts | 
His rainbow plumage with heraldic pomp| 
Above the tombs of a departed race. 


Your countless blue and rosy butterflies| 
Flutter and fan themselves coquettishly; 
Your buzzing insects glitter in the sun, 
Glimmer and glow like gems and talismans | 
Encrusted in the hilts of ancient swords. | 
Your crickets scold, and when the day is} 

spent, 
And fire-flies light your depths, where| 
beasts of prey 
Stalk in the gloom, as through a nightmare 
gleam 
The sulphurous pupils of satanic eyes. 


Yours is the tapir, that in mountain] 
pools 
Mirrors the shape of his deformity, 
And rends the jungle with his monstrous| 
head; 
Yours the lithe jaguar, nimble eecohad 


HISPANIC NOTES 


|JOSE SANTOS CHOCANO 


That from the branches darts upon his 
prey; 


|And yours the tiger-cat, sly strategist, 


With gums of plush and alabaster fang. 


|The crocodile is yours, that venerable 


Amphibious guardian of crops and streams, 

Whose emerald eyes peer from the oozy 
caves; 

And yours the boa, that seems a mighty 
arm 

Hewn from the shadow by a giant axe. 


But like a sponge, into your labyrinth, 


|Of tropic growth, you suck each living 


thing— 


|The strength of muscles and the blood of 


veins— 


_|There to beget in your exuberance 


The warlike plumes of your imperial palms, 


_|Whose milky fruits refreshed in by-gone 


day, 


_|The tribes grown weary with long pilgrim- 


age. 
And there the patriarchal ceiba tree 


_|Offered its canopy to pondering chiefs 
_ |Counciling war or peace beneath its boughs. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


677 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:) 
| 


| 
And there is Pindar’s oak, and there the| 


tree 
Of Lebanon, and the mahogany, 


The cunning craftsman polishes and| 
shapes | 
To thrones of kings and.marriage-beds of! | 
queens. 


Woods of my fathers, sovereign deity, | 
To whom the Incas and’ the Aztecs) 
bowed, | 

I greet you from the sea, and breathe this’ 
prayer: 
That with the night, the close approaching| 
night, 
You may entomb me in your Sacto 
dusk 
Like some dim spectre of forgotten cults, 
And that, to fire my eyes with savage) 
light | 
And wild reflection of your revelry, | 
To burn upon the tip of every tree 
That points into the night, you set aj 
star. | 
—John Pierrepont Rice. | 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE SANTOS CHOCANO 


679 


SUN AND MOON 


‘Between my agéd mother’s hands gleam 
bright 

Her grandson’s locks; they seem a handful 
fair 

Of wheat, a golden sheaf beyond compare— 

The sun’s gold, stolen from the dawn’s 
clear light. 


Meanwhile her own white tresses in my 
sight 

Shed brightness all around her in the air— 

Foam of Time’s wave, a sacred glory rare, 

Like spotless eucharistic wafers white. 


O flood of gold and silver, full and free! 
You make my heart with gladness overrun. 
If hatred barks at me, what need I care? 


To light my days and nights, where’er I 
be, 
In my child’s curls I always have the 
sun, 
The moon in my dear mother’s silver hair! 
_ —Alice Stone Blackwell. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


A SONG OF THE ROAD 


The way was black, 

The night was mad with Babiniace I be- 
strode 

My wild young colt, upon a mountain road. 

And, crunching onward, like a monster’s 
jaws, 

His ringing: hoof-beats their glad rhythm 
kept, 

Breaking the glassy surface of the pools, 

Where hidden waters slept. 

A million buzzing insects in the air 

On droning wing made sullen discord there. 


But suddenly, afar, beyond the wood, 
Beyond the dark pall of my brooding| 
thought, 
I saw lights cluster like a swarm of wasps 
Among the branches caught. 
“The inn!” I cried, and on his living flesh] 
My broncho felt the lash and neighed with 
eagerness. 


And all this time the cool and quiet wood 
Uttered no sound, as though it understood. | 


HISPANIC NOTES 


681 


|A voice so clear, so clear, so ringing sweet— 
}A voice as of a woman singing, and her 
|} song 
|Dropped like soft music winging, at my 
| feet, 

And seemed a sigh that, with my spirit 
blending, | 
engthened and lengthened out, and had. 


_|That music, and the sounds the night wind | 
bore me, 
Like spirit voices from an unseen world 


_|Came drifting o’er me. 


|I curbed my horse, to catch what she might | 
say: 
_|“*At night they come, and they are gone by 
day— ” | | 
-\And then another voice, with low refrain, 
_|And untold tenderness, took up the strain: 


}**Oh love is but an inn upon life’s way”’; 


| 
| 
| 


AND MONOGRAPHS _ Iv | 


682 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Their voices mingled in that wistful lay. 


Then I dismounted and stretched out my| 
length 

Beside a pool, and while my mind was bent 

Upon that mystery within the wood, 

My eyes grew heavy, and my strength 
was spent. 

And so I slept there, huddled in my cloak.} 

And now, when by untrodden paths I go, 

Through the dim forest, no repose I know 

At. any inn at nightfall, but apart 

I sleep beneath the stars, for through my 
heart 

Echoes the burden of that wistful lay: 

“At night they come, and they are gone by 
day, 

And love is but an inn upon life’s way.” 

—John Pierrepont Rice. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


HERRERA REISSIG 


683 


JULIO HERRERA REISSIG 
(1875-1909) 


THE CURA 


|Jutio Herrera REIssIG was born at Monte- 
‘lyideo, Uraguay, of a family of distinction, 
which however did not preserve him from 
‘ja bitter end. His really remarkable work 
was not collected until after his death, and 
jonly the first collection, Los peregrinos de 
_|biedra, has yet made its appearance. 


He is the Cura—Long the silent peaks 
Have watched him breast his hardships 
on his knees,— 

Risking the passes when the winters 
{ freeze,— 

|Taking the lonely routes the midnight 
seeks.— 

As though by magic, ‘neath his blessing 

hand 

A plenteous harvest its responses speaks; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


684 


IV 


His very mule indulgenced graces leaks 
That lift the parish to a heavenly land. 


From his asperges to his clogs and hook | 
He turns in readiness to drain his brook | 
Of mountain gold to deck his altar| 
rude; : 
His preaching iene a breath of basil ; 
sounds,— 
A nephew is his only turpitude— 
His piety with cowlike airs abounds. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


THE PARISH CHURCH 


Se 


In blesséd silence vegetates the place; 

The wax-faced Virgins sleep in — e 
attire 

Of livid velvets and discolored wire, ii 

And Gabriel’s trumpet wearies on his face.| 

A marble yawn the dried-up font soa : 

trace; 

There sneezes an old woman in the! 

choir; Iss 

And in the sun-shaft dust the flies aspire, | ; 


4 
ike 


HISPANIC NOTES 


HERRERA REISSIG 685 | 


As though ’twere Jacob’s ladder for their 
grace. : 


The good old soul is starting at her chores; 
She shakes the poor-box, and in reverence 
pores 
To find how the Saint Vincent alms are 
going; 
Then here and there her feather-duster| 
hies; 
While through the vestry doorway, come 
the cries 
From out the barnyard and the gallant 
crowing. 


—Thomas Walsh. 


THE CARTS 


‘|Long ere the noisy barnyard sounds, or ere| 
The dusky smithy strikes its morning 


lay,— 
Ere chemist wakes, or barber starts his 
day, 
A single lamp burns,—lightless on the| 
square. 


Athwart the melancholy dawning fare 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANT HROGLVGGY. 


The oxen, throwing up their furrow way; 

Beneath the gloom of the unsettled gray 

The ploughman mutters rustic curses 
there. 


Meantime the lordly manor dreams.—The] — 
jet 
Through its old marble speaks the foun- 
tain’s soul; 
And where the tranquil shepherd’s-star is| _ 
Set, 
Waking the lone path’s yearning for its| 
goal 
Of old, slow breathing airs in echo roll 
From tinkling carts the daybreaks 
ne’er forget. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JULIO FLORES 687 


JULIO FLORES 
(1875- ) 


GOLD-DUST 


JULIO FLOREs is a native of Colombia, whose 
poems have gained him great popularity, and 
whose literary touch is characterized by an 
unusual lightness. 


HYMN TO AURORA 


Thou heavenly butterfly 

Whose great and tenuous wings 

Their gold and rose spread high; 

Thou that in ample heaven’s sight 
Over the Andes’ mighty summits flings 
In bland and radiant flight !— 


From what far garden-place, 


_|O butterfly divine, dost race?— 


What heavenly branch or vine 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Gives thee sustaining wine?— 
Perchance the gardens of the night 
Strengthened thy wings of light?— 


What gleaming flower shall ease 

Thine infinite thirst? 

Perchance the golden leas 

Where heaven’s star-blooms burst?— 
Perchance the bright horizons filled 
With glorious rays 

Where gold-dust of thy wings is spilled 
O’er seas and mountain ways?— 


Thou heavenly butterfly, 
Come on my breast to lie; 
From thy transcendant sphere 
Seek out our poor world here, 
Ere thee in winging turn 
To ashes day shall burn! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


ie tal 


MAGALLANES MOURE 


MANUEL MAGALLANES MOURE 


(1875- ) 
MY MOTHER 


MANUEL MAGALLANES Mowrg, is a native of 
Chile, who in his volume Matices sings of her 


brilliant countryside. 


I feel like a small child, lost 
In a scene of gaiety. 

Where are you, mother mine? 
Not there—that is not she— 


Nor this one. .. . Mother mine, 
How can I search? I do not know 
Which you are! Vainly seeking, 
My tears fast flow. 


Just like a little child 

I weep in misery. 

Is your cheek dark, O Mother? 
Or fair to see? 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


689 


HISPANIC ANDROL OGyY: 


This is not you, nor that... . 
Where are you, Mother mine? 
To lighten my dark soul 

Your eyes must brightly shine. 


Your hands must be soft, 
Gentle with tenderness; 
Your lips must drip honey 
To sweeten my bitterness. 


Your kind breast must be 
Oblivion of grief; 
You must be, O Mother, 


Love beyond belief. 


Your love must be 

A vivifying breath, 
And your caresses 
Sweet as sweet death. 


Are you my mother? 

To each woman I pray 

Some sigh, some laugh, not knowing 
The thing that I say. 
! —L. E. Elliott. 


HISPANIC Ves 


MAGALLANES MOURE 


THE RENDEZVOUS 


She will come? She will not come? 
The passing cloud declares she will; 

The quiet tree, no longer dumb, 
Beckons,—She comes not; wait her still. 


=. ee | ee ee 


She willcome? She will not come? 
The sunlit paths with promise thrill 

And file away; but waters drum 
Across the lake—No, wait her still. 


She will come? She will not come? 
My heart is resolute she will; 
But, hush, these murmurs troublesome— 
She will not come—Await her still. 
—Garret Strange. 


Le a ees 


—_—-—_ 


———— | Ss - . - 


eS er 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


692 |/HISPANIC Ati Gy: 


FRANCISCO VILLAESPESA 
(187740) 
THE HESPERIDES 


FRANCISCO VILLAESPESA. was born in Spain 
at Almeria. He is considered a disciple of 
Rubén Dario in his many fine sonnets and 
other poems to be found, in part, in Tristitia 
rerum (1907). 


Garden of Hesperides, divine 
And golden garden shining in mine eyes, 
Dream or reality?—what paths shall twine 
Unto thy shores, O Paradise of mine? 

So to his dream the pilgrim makes repine 
Falling in mire and blood amid his sighs. 
To seek this garden—destiny is thine, 

But never shalt behold it anywise. 


Never to see it, for it lives alone 
Within the bosoms that have sorrow known, 
The treasure-house of all their fantasy— 


HISPANIC NOTES 


VILLAESPESA 


Tn vain thine arid eye its gates would find; 
The prose of life is all too near the mind,— 
And far—too far away—is Poesy! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AFTER LAS ANIMAS 


|The aged castellan beside the fire 
_|Bends o’er his parchment leaves, inhis desire 
|To learn the wise old proverbs of the past 
| That speak of gerfalcons’ and hawks’ wild 
i cast; 
_ |The chatelaine her rosary unwinds 

| Insleepy fingers; and the buffoon binds 
_ |His bells in imitation, for a laugh, 
_ |Shaking his ruddy hood and tinkling staff. 


_ |Insilence the fair damsel draws the threads 
Of silk and gold; beneath her lashes sheds 
_|Her glances on the ruddy page who stands 
Below her dais smiling half in glee, 

|The while he plucks the hound’s ear 
aimlessly, 

|Until a hollow growl sounds ’neath his 

hands. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


| AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


694 


IV 


HISPANIC AN Prete Gy: 


SOME MODERN BRAZILIAN POETS 
I 


ANONYMOUS 
THE CANDLE 


That I might read my page, I lit thee. 
Sought thy light 

To bring to my dark room, and to my 
inner sight, 

Radiance of knowledge. In vain. Im- 
mersed in dreaming . 

I saw naught but thy glow, perceived no 
other gleaming. 

Then I regarded thee. Thy flame, to the 
still night given, 

Ros like a sentient soul, rose like a passion, 
driven 

Upwards in strength and might, seeking 
heaven with its fire, 

Crying aloud to me: “Here rises thine 
own desire! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


FAQUNDES VARELLA 695 


Here is the page immortal knowledge 
holding, 

The book of books all ancient lore enfold- 
ing; 

Wisdom of Thales, Plato, Paul and Christ 
anointed,— 

To that true light is my small flaming 
pointed.” 

—Lilian E. Elliott. 


II 
FAQUNDES VARELLA 


LIFE IN THE INTERIOR 


The rocking of a hammock, a cosey 
fire 

Under a humble roof of thatch, 

A talk, a song, a tune on the guitar; 

A cigarette, a tale, a cup of coffee. 


A robust horse, pacing more lightly 
Than the wind blowing from the plains, 
With a black mane and eyes of fire; 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 
eel 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


696 

His feet scarcely touching the ground as he 
gallops. 

And at the end a smile from a pretty 
country girl 

Of gentle gestures, kindly words; 

A girl with bare neck and bare arms, her 
curls free— 

A girl at the age of blossoming. 

| Kisses, frankly given under the open 
sky; 

Gay laughter, light gossip; _ 

A thousand jests in the evening when the 
sun sinks 

And a thousand songs at dawn when the 
sun rises. 

This is the life of our vast plateaus! 

Of the great uplands of the Land ot the 
Cross, 

Upon a soil that yields only flowers and 
glory; 

Under a sky that sheds only magic and 
light. 

—L. E. Elliott. 
IV HISPANIC NOTES 


BULHAO PATO 


Ill 


BULHAO PATO 
THE TWO MOTHERS 


Two mothers met one day at the door of a 
church. 

One entered, full of radiant joy, 

Proud and triumphant, carrying in her 
arms 

Her little child for baptism. 


The other, the unhappy one, leaving the 
threshold, 

Also carried a child, but this poor mother 

Brought it, dead, for burial. 


A few more steps and the two met— 
She who bore in her happy arms 
The child of her love; 

The other, bathed in tears, 

_ | Who followed her dead baby. 


Their eyes met. And at that moment 
It was the happy mother from whose eyes 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC AN PEROLTOGY-: 


Tears broke, while the stricken woman 


Who had lost her child— 
Oh, miracle of love, smiled, forgetting her 


griet, 
At the rosy baby. 
—L. E. Elliott. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


SAMUEL A. LILLO 


SAMUEL A. LILLO 


TO VASCO NUNEZ DE BALBOA 


SAMUEL A. LILLO, is a Chilean poet, whose 
volumes, Canciones de Arauca and Chile 
heroico, are vivid pictures of nature and primi- 
tive life in his country. 


a 


If in the night a herd of savage buffaloes 

Suddenly plunge into a quiet backwater 

Beating there into ripples the sleeping 
water 

With their great bodies, 

And blot out all the shining reflection 

Of the great moon, trembling and luminous, 

That lies like a silver flower upon the 
water, 

Then the once peaceful pool turns ferocious 

Restless and troubled, leaping and tossing; 

But when the herd has passed on its way 

Once more the heavens gently send 

The moon’s shimmering image, 


ee ee ee ae eee 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


Unstable as the faint hue announcing 

A pallid dawn, 

But at last it shines with the radiant clarity 
Of a diamond glowing from its dark bed. 


So in this world it may be, that ignorant or 
perverse 

Men may pass, troubling the even current 

Reflecting the glory and fame of some hero 

Of Mars or Minerva; and then, when no 
longer 

The sounds of the caravan are heard in the 
distance, 

Then in the calm waters of history, 

Like the silver flower from the feet of the 
herd 

There rises, pellucid and bright, 

The illustrious memory once lost 

In the stir of the crowd. 


Thus, across the long years, 
In this fair land of Columbus 

Now, free from mistakes and illusions, 
Thou unfortunate Captain of Spain! 
There glory shines, lighting thy valiant 
face, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


701 


id because, conqueror in terrible con- 
f flicts, 
|Thy sovereign courage drew from the 
| depths 
Of the mysteries of earth a great ocean, 
That doubled the size of the world. 


52 


| His was a spirit audacious, adventurous, 

|Given the wings of the condor, the eyes of 
the kite, 

{A mixture of bully and knight 

| With a trace of the Spanish hidalgo. . . 

q —L. E. Elliott. ~ 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


7o2 |HISPANIC AN DTEROLOGcyY.- 


CARLOS PEZOA VELIZ 
(1879-1903) 
AGE 


CarRLos PEZOA VELIZ was a native of San- 
tiago de Chile. He devoted his short life to 
periodical literature. His works, collected 
after his death, were published by his friends 
under the title Cdrlos Pezoa Véliz, Poesias 
liricas (Santiago, Valparaiso, 1912). 


Few my years, when hopes were many, 
Dreams were gay, and I sang any— 
Now my hopes are few, and older 
Griefs pile up, and sighs grow bolder. 


I have seen but few hopes tarry 
On the road where the far years carry; 
Mine, it seems, by age were frighted,— ~ 
For Hopes are maids that scorn the white-| 
head! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


CARLOS PEZOA VELIZ| 73 


| THE HOSPITAL, ONE AFTERNOON 


'|Athwart the fields the drops are falling, 

| Softly, gently, on the plains; 

|And through the drops a grief is calling,— 
It rains. 


{Alone amid my sick-ward spacious 
Where I my bed of weakness keep, 
There’s naught to fight my grief voracious, 
But sleep. 


But mists are gathering around me 
With choking hold upon my veins; 

I wake from out the sleep that bound me— 
It rains. 


Then, as if in my final anguish, 
Before the landscape’s mighty brink, 
Amid the mists that fall and languish, 
I think. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


704 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


VIRGILIO DAVILA 
~ (1880- ) 


HOLY WEEK 


VIRGILIO DAVILA is a native of Puerto Rico. 

He has gained great popular esteem by his 

book of sonnets dealing with the actual life of 

his people, entitled Pueblito de antes—Versos| 

criollos (San Juan, 1917). i 
I 


Here’s Holy Week!—How very different | 
We spent it in our native town at home! | 
Where everybody still and pious went = | 
And hushed as though beneath some | 
convent dome. 
The merry tinkle of the bulistes stilled, | 
The rattles had begun their hollow roll; 
The entrance to the village church was] 
filled : 
With pious folk grown anxious for their 
soul. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


_ In mourning garb their Jesus’ death and 
| loss; 
|The men suspending labor now attend, 
Dressed in their best, awaiting to the end 
| “The Seven Last Words” and “Stations 
. of the Cross.” 


|Then the procession—from the crowded 
nave— A 

_ Moves solemnly, a mighty multitude, 

|With sacred hymns and attitudes most! 

i grave 

_ As though with mystic powers it were 

| imbued. 

Saint Antony’s Sodality is there— 

| Old women who have made the church 
their home; 

jEach “Child of Mary” and each urchin 
bare— 

| How many in God’s honor thither come! 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


c 


706 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


The Cura forth ’mid chants and incense] 
files 
Beneath the canopy borne down the aisles 
By parish notables with airs that brag; 
But haughtiest of all, the village-mayor, 
In broidered coat pre-eminently there, 
Goes first to bear the patriotic flag. 


3 


’Tis Holy Saturday; the sunbeams smile 
As though some sweetheart saw her love) 
appear; 
Crowds in the church are waiting hopettll 
while 
The Lord prepares to rise—for ten is 
near !— 

The linen sheet across the chantry parts— 
“Gloria in excelsis” —scarce the priest has| 
prayed, 
When the high belfry’s jubilation starts, | 
The organ roars—the “Royal March” 
is played. 


At once the rattle of old musketry, 
The sounds of children shouting in their leq 


HISPANIC NOTES 


een ae: ed 


- VIRGILIO DAVILA 707 
To chase old Judas down the crowded 
= way!— 
|Life seethes in alleys that before were bare, 
| Anew the shopkeepers display their ware, 
_ And each heart patters—‘‘ Resurrection 
. Day!” 
—Thomas Walsh. 


| AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


708 


IV 


LUIS FELIPE CONTARDO 
(1880- ) 


HOME OF PEACE AND PURITY 


Luts FELIPE CoNTARDO i is a native of ee | 


inRome. He is author of Cantos del camino| 
(Santiago de Chile, 1918). 


dying, 
Children bend above their books, i 
mother at her toil; ; 


lying 
There was set a spray of lilies sno y| 
from the soil. 


Like a peaceful vase of purity, the dwell-| 
ing,— | 
‘“‘Here there is no touch of life upon 
troubled way!”— 


HISPANIC NOTES 


|So the snowy lilies, fresh and pure are 
telling, 


young hearts would say. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


THE CALLING 


Lorp, Thou dost know with what implaca- 
{ ble hand 
Life cut its wound across my inmost, 
| breast: 

|How I was lost amid the worldly band— 
| How I have suffered where its blade was 
pressed! 
| Lord, Thou dost know how from all healing 

banned, 

No cure I found in all the world possest; 
How I in gloom would walk, and trembling 
| stand 

_ Before Thy mystery with doubt confest! 


} 
} 


_ |Thy words came then unto mine ear—so 
sweet — 
| Yea, sweeter far than mother’s lullaby. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


710 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


SS 


Unto the path, O Lord, Thou drew’st my] 
feet; | 

My wounded wing against Thy breast} 
did fly, | 

And there, as in predestined grief’s retreat, | 
Within Thy heart, as in its nest did lie. — 
—Thomas Walsh. | 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


mors: Cc.) LOPEZ 


LUIS C. LOPEZ 
(1880- __) 


RIVER-FOLK 


Luis C. L6rEz was born at Cartagena, in 
Colombia, where he has been intimately 


_ jidentified with the culture of his native 


land. His.poems are very popular. 
I 


THE VILLAGE BARBER 


The village barber, in his old straw hat, 
And dancing pumps and waistcoat of 
piqué, 
_|Plays sharp at cards, and on his knee-bones 
squat 
Hears mass, and rails at old Voltaire all 
day. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


712 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


An “old subscriber” to El Liberal 
He works and sparkles like a merry 
glass 
Of muscatel, his razor’s rise and fall 
Timing his gossip of what comes to pass. 


With mayor and.veterinary, pious folk 
Who say the rosary, he speaks no joke 
Of miracles by Peter Claver wrought; 
A tavern champion, and a cock-pit sage, | 
Amid the scissors’ clip, his wars he’ll} 
wage, 
Sparkling like muscatel the light has] 
caught. 


2 


THE VILLAGE MAYOR 


The village mayor, in a soiled panama 

With a tricolor ribbon at its crown, 

Stout as Hugh Capet, in his loose eclat, 

Glitters with bull-dog face across the| 
town. ! 

A doughty neighbor, ruddy as the tow, 

His dagger’s point his only signature,— 


wi: 
HISPANIC NOTES 


mums CY LOPEZ 


713 


_|When at the night the garlic soup will 
; flow, 
He makes his girdle strap the less secure. 


_ |His wife, a nervous, pretty, little thing, 
Holds him as in an iron fastening, 
Cheering herself the while with Paul de 
; Kock; 
Decked in glass-beads, her eyebrows 
painted clear, — 
The while her spouse through the back- 
town will steer 
With stomach jewels and a face of rock. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


VERSES TO THE MOON 


O Moon, who now look over the roof 

Of the church, in the tropical calm 

To be saluted by him who has been out all 
night, 

To be barked at by the dogs of the suburbs, 


at 
All things! In your sidereal silence 


O moon, who in your silence have laughed | 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


When, keeping carefully in the shadow, the| 
Municipal judge steals from some den— 


But you offer, saturnine traveler, 
With what eloquence in mute space 
Consolation to him whose life is broken, 


While there sing to you from a drunken 
brawl 

Long-haired, neurasthenic bards, 

And lousy creatures who play dominos. 

—William G. Williams. 


HISPANIC: NOTES 


EMILIO CARRERE 


EMILIO CARRERE 
(1881- ) 


THE MANTILLA 
EmiILio CARRERE was born in Madrid. He 


= : 
Among them are El caballero de la muerte, 
Roménticas, El divino amor humano, and 
Dietario sentimental. 


Black 
As though it were a very breath that 
blows 
From Madrilenian shadows, in its play 
And nightly flutter, the mantilla shows 
The street-girl duchesses of Goya’s day. 
In the light carts by Manzanares’ tide 
The black mantilla held its gallant reign; 
In Holy Week Sevilla caught its pride 
Amid her patios and her orange train. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


716 


To the blue-shadowed eyes of maids dis-| 
tressed | 

As their own heart-songs, its soft folds} 
brought rest | 

In the infuriate passion of their love; 
Under its midnight was a lurid glow 
Upon the breast—a ruddy brooch to show | 
Like a red rose, a gloomy heart above. 


White 
Silken mantilla, in whose snowy woof 
Lurk the dark lashes, with their Moorish| 
spell, 
Of eyes whose midnight gives a deeper pau 
When the bull’s bloodstains on the plaza 1 
tell. qi 
Tangle of pearl and moonlight, blossoming] — 
Of snow and swan and silver sails that| 
shine,— 
White flowers of Holy Thursday in a ring | 
About the Seven-Dolored Virgin’s eee ; 


Blossom of gallantry, snow-tipped mantilla, | 
With graceful ripples of the seguidilla, 
Blason of Goya’s festivals of old, 


HISPANIC NOTES 


7LIO CARRERE 


clear and joyous as the vanished 
strains 

That shower from silver orange groves like 
{ rains 

_ Upon our beauties with the flesh of gold! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


717 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


JUAN RAMON JIMENEZ 
(188t® 


ONE NIGHT 


JUAN RaMON JIMENES was born at Moguer| 
in Huelva, Spain. He has gained recognition| 
through several collections of poetry revealing| 
a very melancholy nature. He has recently 4 
admitted free-verse as a vehicle for his poetry.| 
‘His publications include Arias tristes (1903), j 
Melancolia (1912), Diario de un poeta recién| 
casado (1917),and Poesias escojidas (Hispanic 
Society of America, 1917). H|. 
NF 
The ancient spiders with a flutter spread | ; 
Their misty marvels through the wit 
ered flowers, 

The windows, by the moonlight pierced,| i 
would shed ; 

Their trembling garlands pale across the}. 
bowers. / 

| 


HISPANIC NOTES 


ae 


JUAN RAMON JIMENEZ 


[The balconies looked over to the South; 
| The night was one immortal and serene; 
From fields afar the newborn springtime’s 
4 mouth 
| Wafted a breath of sweetness o’er the 
scene. 


How silent! Grief had hushed its spectral 
moan 
_| Among theshadowy roses of the sward; 
-|Love was a fable—shadows overthrown 
Trooped back in myriads from oblivion’s 
ward. 


|The garden’s voice was all—empires had 
died— 
The azure stars in languor having known 
The sorrows all the centuries provide, 
With silver crowned me there, remote 
and lone. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


GRIEF-WEARINESS 


In the dark my grief increaseth; 
A grimmer phantom grows my old re- 
morse; 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


720 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


The shadowy finger never ceaseth 
To trace its ‘““Mene, Tekel’s” bloody 
course. 


My bosom, shaken by its weeping, 
Is as a mountain sad and drear, 
Where clouds are black illusions heaping; | 
Where dream is chill, and glory, fear. 


What hand is there to undo the portal— 
To blunt each thorn-point on a rose; 
With peace at twilight, and the mortal 
Bosom melted to a star that glows! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


FROM ETERNIDADES 


Let me draw rein, 
Let me put a curb upon 
The steed of dawn; 
And let me enter—white—upon life. 


Oh, how they stare at me,— 
The mad 
Flowers of all my dreamings, 
Lifting their heads unto the moon! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


Together met, and joining swift, 
|Became as though one tear, 
|Became as though one star. 


|And I grew blind,—and heaven 
Grew blind of love—And all the world 
Was nothing more than sorrow 
Of a star, and glitter of a tear, 
—Thomas Walsh. 


THE PARK 


The ancient spiderwebs of all the halls 
_ Reflect the twilight fires of amethyst; 

Each balcony ’mid rains and trees recalls 

| Infaded hues some story time has missed. 


|It seems as though a dance of long ago 
Would waken in this twilight lone and 


fair; 
The soil is wet; from the chill branch 
; below 
There sounds the muffled sob of love's 
despair. 


| 
| 
| 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


722 


|Down the long avenue there fades irom| 


IV 


SE ee Bony, Tho 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY] 


A hush—the scent of trampled roses—| 
| 


night, 
Wherein the golden lustres gleaming; 


throng; 


sight 
An old coach bearing off—alas!—wh 


song! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


lVICTOR DOMINGO SILVA 


ee ee ee 


VICTOR DOMINGO SILVA 
(ca. 1883-— ) 


BALLAD OF THE VIOLIN 


{Victor DoMINGo SILVA was born at Tongoy, 
|Chile. He has published Hacia alld (1906), 
| El derrotero (1908), Selva florida (1911). 


This youth, suffering, weak, 
Plays the violin in the sun 
For a drink of rum 

And a handful of tobacco. 


And listen! While he ripples 
A Spanish roundelay 
Or some Slavic song. 
This youth, suffering, weak, 


Goes out to seek the sun 
To fill his shabby sack 
To get a drink of rum 
And a handful of tobacco. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:}| 


Goes out to kill despair 

When he plays the violin, 
Comes out to seek the sun 

As a snail creeps from its shell. 


This weak and suffering boy 
Died playing the violin. 

What of it? He came to his end 
With a drink of rum 

And a handful of tobacco. 


They found him in the sun 
Clasping his violin. 
—L. E. Elliott. 


THE RETURN 


I have come back to the old home— 
therein 

To weep my childhood gone, my father laid 
in death; 

Days, months and years have passed 

upon their way, 

And all the house in ruin lies, from roof 

To cellar, oh, what bitter change o’er all,— 

How everything I knew has met decay! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


(@) 
lar 
(e) 
bd 
oO 
e) 
x 
ke 
7 
Qa 
fo) 
op) 
| on 
WW 
a 
ace 
~~ 
an 


|I come again in weeping for the hours 
| Bright- -shining mornings, evenings filled 
| with dreams 

~ And slumberous afternoons!) I once have 
known, 
|Where “he who has returned to us so 
changed . 
With rounded shoulders and his hair like} 
snow ”— 
Seems now so different from his young 
a flown. 


bi 

3 Awaiting ever, ever his return, 

, _|We are not quite surprised; we feel his kiss 
| Upon our foreheads as in days of old; 

_ |My mother sighs; the grave domestics gaze 
{With reverent mien, and the old dog 
begins 

His barking as if back the years had 
rolled. 


|How long the voyage, Saviour, oh how 
: long !— 

And in my years away, how many drouths, 
How many mountain glooms and fogs 
of dread !— 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


1 a as e | 
726 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY 


A silence falls; it seems each other reads 
Sorrows in each, and weariness in some, 
And worlds of dream and grief o’er every 
head. 


How long the voyage, Saviour, oh, how 
long !— ; 
Here by the frigid hearthstone of my home, 
With all surrounding me, I bid them 
tell, 
If I look older?—They reply to me; 
“Yes, father dear, we find you very 
- changed.” 
And I:—‘‘Poor children, you are changed} 
as well.” 
—Thomas Walsh. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


PEREZ-PIERRET 


ANTONIO PEREZ-PIERRET | 
(1883- ) 
MY PEGASUS 


ANTONIO PEREZ-PIERRET was born in San 
Juan, Puerto Rico. He is equally well- 
known in the United States and the Antilles 
asa poet of distinction and charm. 


My mount is Arab-English, firm and 
4 strong, 
With slender, agile legs, and lengthened 
throat; 
The nerves upon his flanks in network 
throng, 
His beauty has a strange and curious 
note. 
_ |The blooded stock to which his sires belong 
| Shines on his forehead with its tangled 
coat; 
_|He paws and curvets ‘neath my bridle’s 
thong, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


728 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


And sniffs eternities in breaths that 
gloat. 


In pastures calm he grazes,—but on high| 
His crest of light goes singing toward the| 
sky, i 

His mouth athirst for azure depths afar,| 
As though to gulp the starry spaces down; 
When sudden, with a brutal hand, I drown| 
His frenzy, and the reins a-trembling are.| 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IV 


HISPANIC. NOTES 


AREVALO MARTINEZ 


R. AREVALO MARTINEZ 
(m884— >) 
FROM LAS IMPOSIBLES 


|R. Arfévato Martinez is a native of Hon- 
|duras, whose work in metre and in prose 
|shows extraordinary imaginative and dram- 
|atic qualities. His poems possess a beautiful 
; clarity and great depth. 


\Iam the first love. Iam the enchantment. 
-|I am the pain of that white form 

the time you wrapped yourself in your 
cloak 


t 

Woman is pain. But of all, 
|Lam she who worst wounds and blinds and 
»  maims, 


729 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


730 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


I am the first night of the nuptials 
of the soul, to which none ever came.. 


I launch my glances like falcons 

to all those virgin souls 

that give easy prey to women. 

I am she who smiles on the balconies 
full of the moon, in the outskirts, 

to the poets and the freshmen. 


Sometimes I was the cousin, cousin mine, 
white as the flower of the lemon tree 

and when you brushed my hand 

you gave me more than a body entire. 


Perhaps I gave you my mouth. But be 
sure 

that if you kissed it, it was only once 

astride the wall 

and I so closely wrapped against the moon 

that when I saw you go you went drunk, 

forehead high, in your smile a prayer 

and you kissed the air; and you went ' 

blinded by me as by a light shining in all 
things. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


. AREVALO MARTINEZ 


Students, you whom Honduras 
or Nicaragua sends to Guatemala 
and who mingle dreams and penury 
and live three or four in a room; 


_|Crimson immigration of youths 
half bohemians and half singers 
|sonorous with the preludes of lutes, 
luminous with the blood of stars, 


Who all know the mad cup 
-jand stand two months in your landlord’s 
debt; 
_|I am that golden-haired school girl 
_|who, with a kiss which she left on your 
mouth, 
pinned a wing to your shoulders 
and put the sun in your hearts. 
—William G. Williams. 


THE CONTEMPORARY SANCHO 
PANZA 


Today Sancho cloaks himself in various 
1 disguises, 

-|Sancho Panza criticises, Sancho Panza 
writes verses. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


His bearing is the dominie and his speech 
dogmatic. 

From two crutches hangs his great plethoric 
paunch. if 

He has the puerilities of grammar 

and loves the adolescences of rhetoric. 


If modernist clothes dress the ideal, 
in he thrusts his grammatical incisive. 


He writes the classic sonnet; turns to the| 
estrambote 
and laughs in his sleeve at Don Quixoté. 


And the sad and curious thing is that the 
insane Don Quixoté 

opens a new trail into unknown lands 

and when it is beaten by him, comfortably| — 

passes the bell-shaped figure of his squire. 


He has left his ass, he wears fine clothes 

and shouts in a loud voice at inns and 
upon highways: 

“Praise with me all those who renew the| 
tongue; 

I open new pathways for the young.” 


HISPANIC NOTES 


733 


_|Sancho, good Sancho, I admire your rustic 
prudence 

‘jand I cannot deny that you have in 
at abundance 

ja sense of life which laughs at madness, 
_jand which is of a hundred thousand San- 
chos the common sense. 


_|Complete, to its very full, your derision 

_ |laughs at the adventures of knighthood, 

_|but when peace comes after the battle 

you listen to the rebukes of your master 
and are silent. 

_ |For the ball-men, life is forever lovely 

_|since if it slopes they know how to roll 

down it. 


_|Oh, rotund squire of easy soul and broad 
face, 
without Don Quixote the Good, what 
would become of Sancho? 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


HISPANIC ANGHGLOGs 


Your master misses a hundred times; but] 
once he hits 

and that sole time is worth more than all 
your dead life. 


In opening to the mind a sealed path, 
thus history combines the divine pair; 
in front, the thin master dragging his 
squire; 
and behind, the fat servant, laughing, but 
he comes. 
—William G. Williams. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


“GABRIELA MISTRAL 735 


a 


: 


GABRIELA MISTRAL 
(ca. 1885- ). 
FROM THE “SONNETS OF DEATH” 


_|GABRIELA MisTRAL, or Lucilla Godoy, is 2 

_|mative of Chile where she has given her life 

to the education of children and the creation 

_ jof poetry to be sung by them. Her works 
tare as yet uncollected. 


|The hands of evil have been on your life 

Since when, at signal from the stars, I 
sowed 

_ {It ’mid the lilies. Beauteous was it rife 

Till hands of evil wrecked the fair abode. 

_ |Unto the Lord I said: ‘From mortal paths 
Oh let them bear him,—spirit without 

k guide—; 

_ |Save him, O Saviour, from the grip of 

wraths, : 

And plunge him in the dream Thine 
arms provide!” 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


736 


WY, 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:]. 
Lament is vain—in vain I strive to follow; 7 
Black is the tempest that drives on his 

sail; i 

My breast for mi or mow away his a 

flower !— 12 

Woe! Woe!—the seas te bark aoe roses | 

swallow— } 

Is pity in my heart of no avail ?— i: 
Thou that shalt judge me, Lord, speak 
Thou this hour! 

—Roderick Gill. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


RNANDO MARISTANY 


FERNANDO MARISTANY 
(1885-__) 


-|PERNANDO MARISTANY is a native of Barce- 
|lona where he still continues to reside. He 
5 has republished his original poems under the 
title of En el azul (Barcelona, 1919). His 
_|contributions to international letters may be 
_|studied in his volumes Poesias excelsas de los 
|grandes poetas; Las cién mejores poesias de la 
\lengua francesa; Las cién mejores poesias de 
|la lengua inglesa; Las cién mejores poesias 
_\de la lengua portugesa. 


-|(My Soul sings) 


|My soul is distant, with a crystal note, 
_|As virginal waters in a hidden moat. 


' My soul is hushed in haughty solitudes, 
|As some old lordly manor in the woods. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


738 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


My soul is frank and simple in its ways, 
As the light rain that flecks the rose with 
sprays. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


THE PENALTY 


Fourteen years old— 
And in the study-hall, 
Broad and unfurnished, at the school I 
stayed 
Alone and friendless, though some other lads 


'|Were with me.—It was six o’clock, but we 


Were kept till eight.— 
It was October’s close, 
And the first chill—and down the garden 
walks 
The tossing trees were shaking off their 
robes; 
Amid the rustle of dead leaves, a hush 
More silent than a hush,—amid the sway 
Of fluttered curtains, struck the deep- 
voiced clock 
The hour of six— 
The class in violin— 


HISPANIC NOTES 


lA own the staircase broad, the broken 


a 


|Of tuning—then, O God, arose and lifted 


4 me 
|To heights undreamt of—trembling, ex- 
quisite 
|Sweetness and bitterness—a pure noc- 
turne— 
Chopin, my brother, oh, my brother, now 
|For twenty years I bear within my heart 
Your melody divine! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


740 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


ERNESTO MONTENEGRO 
(ca. 1885- ) 


TO MODERN POETS 


ERNESTO MONTENEGRO is a native of Chile,| 
where he is well known as a poet and writer] 
for the reviews. He has spent some years 
in the United States. 


Truce to the hunt of gold, 

O brothers strong and bold; 

Life hath a beauty far 

Beyond this traffic jar; 

In vain trade’s towers on high 

Blacken against the sky— 

The wind, a wild thing—blows— 

And bluer, purer now the heaven shows. 


From factory, wharf and wall 
Some pallid flower may crawl; 
Take it and from your soul 
Put off the childish réle, 


HISPANIC NOTES . 


MONTENEGRO 


pend, though across a grill, 

Let sun your ruins fill. 

h ear not, your little song 

Can stay machines not long 

|From their gigantic beat; 

\The meadow-lark with fleet 

|Sweep to heaven from the soil 

; A shaft of song is, for the son of toil. 


|Ye heralds of the suns, 

 |And swallow-myrmidons,— 
|Lend courage to me now 

This hour of solemn vow;— 
|That here amid our rude 
_|Metropolis may brood 

_ |Forever fruit of song; 

_|That artists, poets, long 

Their refuge here may find, 
Comfort and peace of mind; 
That here all work, all thought, 
All song, to harvest brought, 
May see the grim tower to a blossom 


wrought! 
—Roderick Gill. 


SSS SS ene 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


741 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


JOSE MANUEL POVEDA 
(1885 5.59% die 


THE MANUSCRIPT 


José MANUEL Povena is a native of Cuba 
where he has become an associate editor of 
El Figaro. His Versos precursores (Manza- 
nillo, 1917) have won him great admiration 
as a poet. 


It rests within its crystal royally, 
With ceremonious bareness set apart; 
Subservient ribbons mark its sovereignty; 

A seal is sign of its authentic heart. 
No fingers dare to turn its pages o’er; 

No modern reader comes to study there; 
Its object now is to be read no more,— 
Its mission sole is but to last fore’er. 


In all the coro not a single thing 
Displays such haughty air or blazoning 
As does the boast of its antiquity; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JOSE MANUEL POVEDA 


_| Antiquity that ne’er can be destroyed, 

Which, while it treasures ages, is employed 

To assert abroad its own supremacy. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


SONG OF THE CREATIVE VOICE 


I turn unto the demiurgic nights 
Of cruel, male fecundity; 

I turn amid creative, squandering wights 
Exultant where the cities be. 


The spreading cities feel my anxious passion 
In penetration ’gainst their heart, 

Forming the letters that at last shall fashion 
The word of Song apart. 


The city gloats upon its silence dire,— 
And shall I then be silent,—no!— 

For Destiny would of me song require, 
Bidding the city hearken low! 


For this I brave the brows of its disdain, 
Persistent, in my sorrow strong, 
Faithful unto mankind amid my pain, 
Till mine shall be his song! 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


744 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


MONTOTO DE SEDAS 
(1868) HH 


SPANISH EYES 


SANTIAGO MonTOTO DE SEDAS was born at 
Seville, the son of Don Luis Montoto Rauten- 
strauch the poet. He is a graduate of the 
College of San Hermenegildo, and has become 
Archivist of Seville. His poetical works in- 
clude Ultima hora de Torcuato Tasso (Seville, 
1910), Poestas (Seville, 1911). 


“Trust not black eyes’ smile or frown, 
And be coy of eyes of blue; 
Glances of the chestnut brown 
Are the only good and true.” 
Street Song. 


Thinkst thou I can trust thy pleading 
With such singing in the town, 
When in thy clear eyes I’m reading 
Trust not black eyes’ smile or frown? 


HISPANIC NOTES 


eax’ 


MONTOTO DE SEDAS. 


vi 
id 


| Nor in thine whose eyes are shining 
Starry for a love-clasp due, 

Other warning they are signing,— 
And be coy of eyes of blue, 


a * 


One alone my heart entrances, 
One with pining bends me down,— 
She who turns the mellow glances, 
Glances of the chestnut brown. 


| Hers that hold no trace of scheming | 
_ Nor cajoling in their hue; 
Eyes that meet me in my dreaming 
Are the only good and true. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


745 


IV 


746 


HISPANIC ANP ROLOGY: 


RENE LOPEZ (Cuban) 


THE SCULPTOR 


Sculpture’s great mother was the rock- 
crowned crest: 
The frozen granite was her prophet old; 
In blazoned bronze her lyric praise was 
told; 
With molding clay was her fair body 
dressed. 


My chisel is of steel whose flash is manifest 
As arrows flying past a sun of gold. 
I am the God of Art: the athlete bold, 
Proud chiseler of beauty pure and blessed. 


Time crumbles not the shapings of my 
hands. 
Under the feet of my great Moses stands 
Man, trembling as before a presence 
mighty. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


a? tae 


RENE LOPEZ 


| ‘Tis I whose hammer-blows, mid hurtling 


chips, 
Out of the block made rise from heel to 
lips 


|The curves implacable of Aphrodite. 


—Joseph I. C. Clarke. 


MARTINA PIERRA DE POO 
(Cuban) 


LOVE'S MIRRCR 


“‘Girl, gazing in the crystal pool, 
What see you there to make you 
merry? ” 
“T see within the waters cool 
My image—very like me, very.” 
“You find it beautiful?” 
“Indeed I do.” 

“And that is why you’re glad?” 

“Why, certainly.} 
““My beauty, ’tis—face, form, and hue— 
That holds Sebastian dead in love with 


»” 


me. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


748 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


“Girl, so fair and frank and pure, 
Sebastian’s dying now to net you: 
God grant that he may not forget you 
If dies your beauty as the lure.” . 


“Poor woman gazing in the crystal pool, 
What’s there so saddening to see?” 
“T see mine image shining cool 
In its transparency.” 
‘And is it beautiful? 
“No: longer; no.” 
“And that is why it makes you sad?” 
“Yes; even so. 

Sebastian’s love lifts up to fret me: 
My beauty gone, he doth forget me.” 
“Poor woman! Tho’ you weep and weep, 
Tho’ life may of your peace take toll: 
Learn that the only love that’s deep 
Is that which rises from the soul.” 

—Joseph I. C. Clarke. 


HISPANIC NOTES 


DMITRI IVANOVITCH 
(1888- _) 


THE CHILD ASLEEP 


= IVANOVITCH is the pen-name of José 
Betancourt, the son of Don Julio Betan- 
‘|court, born at Cartagena, Colombia, and 
Jeducated at the College of the Pious Schools 
Jat Seville, Spain. He is the author of many 
|poems, and one of the editors of La Prensa, 
|New York. 


'|In the hushed dwelling, where the plaintive 
ray 

Of one poor candle’s light on roof and 
floor 

| Weaves in its flickerings fantastic store 
Of shadowing, a little head doth lie 

| Upon its snowy pillow while the play 

| Ofrhythmic breathing calmly stirring o’er 
The couch mysterious and pure and more 
As with a wavelet—sets its depths a-sway. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


749 


IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


There watching at her side, I gently feel 
Her light breath stir and move against my 
own 
That pauses with the awesome thoughts 
that steal 
Across me,—stricken to my very soul 
With the vague dread of life that I have} 


known; 
I yearn to be her shield, her cloak, her 


stole. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IV 


~ 


GUILLEN ZELAYA 751 


ALFONSO GUILLEN ZELAYA 
(1888-— ) 


LORD, I ASK A GARDEN 


ALFonso GUILLEN ZELAYA is a native of 
Juticalpa, Honduras, who was educated at 
the Escuela de Derecho. His principal poet- 
ical works are contained in El agua de la 

_ | fuente about to appear and De Ja luz ignorada 
(in preparation). 


_ |Lord, I ask a garden in a quiet spot 

_ |Where there may be a brook with a good 

4 flow, 

_ |An humble little house covered with bell- 
flowers 

_ |And a woman and ason who shall resemble 

1 Thee. 


I should wish to live many years, free from 
hates, 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


752 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: | 


And make my verses, as the rivers 

That moisten the earth, fresh and pure. 

Lord, give me a path with trees and 
birds. 


I wish that you would never take my| 
mother, | 

For I should wish to tend her as a child 

And put her to sleep with kisses, when| — 
somewhat old, ; 

She may need the sun. 


I wish to sleep well, to have a few books, 

An affectionate dog that will spring upon 
my knees, 

A flock of goats, all things rustic, 

And to live of the soil tilled by my own hand. | 


To go into the field and flourish with it; 
To seat myself at evening under the rustic| 


eaves, 
To drink in the fresh mountain perfumed | 
air 4 
And speak to my little one of humble} 
things. 4 


IV HISPANIC NOTES | 


"GUILLEN ZELAYA 


; water 
|jAnd put him to sleep thinking that he, 
may later on 


_|Keep that freshness of the moist grass. 


'|And afterwards, the next day, rise with 


- dawn, 

_ \|Admiring life, bathe in the brook, 
-|Milk my goats in the happiness of the 
+) ~ garden | 
_|And add a strophe to the poem of the 
world. . 


—William G. Williams. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


754 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: |] 


JUAN GARNERO CIVICO 
(1889-__ ) 


THE VISION 


Juan GarNERO Civico was born at Seville 
and graduated from the College of the 
Escolapios. His poetical work includes 
Cantares (Seville, 1916). 


Between the cloister grates I have had 
glimpse 
Of her—her brows beneath the snowy 
coif concealed; 
Yet through the veils, her eyes of azure clear 
Like ardent coals of fire were revealed. 


Then came again the vision mystical 
Of that strange day she took the cloistral 
white; 
And lone I peer athwart the snowy veils 
Into the heavens of her blue eyes of 
light. 
—Thomas Walsh. 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


| DANIEL DE LA VEGA | 755 


i SOME YOUNGER POETS OF CHILI 
T I 


DANIEL DE LA VEGA 
(ca. 1890-—__) 


THE DOOR 


| |My door is always closed and always dark, 
My old door, crossed and recrossed with 
ra bars, 

\Is harsh and hostile—nobody would believe 
at safe behind it songs and bright 
raptures glow. 


|Before it sleep, silent, three steps of brick, 
| | That lead from the earth into my solitude, 
|The sun of my innocent days rose up them, 
| |And knocked at the door with heavenly 
humbleness. 


| p to my door, one misty and quiet day, 
wo little hands of a woman came to knock, 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


And the leaves opened with the impetuous: 
haste 
Of a bird opening its wings for sudden| 


flight. 


Her little feet hurried and tripped up the 
steps, 


gentle tread, 
And the two halves of the door sha 
themselves, dumbly, 
Seeming like eyes that do not wish to lool 4 


Then perhaps there was heard a light 
laugh of joy, i 

And the faint sound of a kiss—then the 
silence of love, 

But the old door, obstinate, selfish, con-| 
cealed t 

Even the most shadowy echo within its 
heart. 


Slowly I move through life. In the restless} 
Depths of each day, comes the future to} 
knock 

And I say smiling: It is too soon! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


JUAN JOSE VELGAS 


IL ving and singing have still the same 
sweetness! 


|B ut some day Death will draw near to my 

| door; 

|He will enter and silently give me his hand, 

| While still the future calls with the call of a’ 

| brother, 

Poets wail for you! This is the final day! 

And I, as a poet will cry with my dying 
- breath: 

It is too soon! Death, you are still too 
soon!” 


|p 
\ 


—L. E. Elliott. 


II 
JUAN JOSE VELGAS 
THE AZURE SKY 


What is the blue of the sky? It cannot 
be Thy mantle, 

For things corruptible are naught to the 
Almighty, 


But when on its calm beauty we rest our 


tired eyes 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


a 
| 
| 
| 
‘ 
| 
| 
| 
| 


757 


IV 


758 


HISPANIC ANTROUOG Yas 


There comes the blessed solace ‘of quick 
tears. 


At close of day, painted with flaming 
clouds, 

The sky is a dread vision of the City of| 
the Lost, ) 

And at dead of night it broods with] — 
such veiled mystery 

That we must fain prostrate ourselves 
before it. 


The calm blue of the morning is a sign 
of Thy omnipotence! 
For this hast Thou created its pure 
beauty, 
For this hast Thou permitted the arts 
of man 

To penetrate its depths—and for this, O 
God! 

I crave that some day in my sad and] 
restless life 

Blue eyes may shine upon me with the 
love of woman. 

—L. E. Elliott. 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MARIANO BRULL 


MARIANO BRULL 
(1891—) 


INTERIOR 


MARIANO BRULL was born at Camaguey; 
Cuba, and after a long sojourn in Andalusia 
returned to his native land where he was 
graduated from the University of Havana 
in 1913. He became Secretary of the Cuban 
Legation at Washington in 1917. He has 
been a frequent contributor to El Figaro of 
Havana and has published a volume of poems 
La casa del silencio, Madrid, 1916. A new 
volume is in preparation, entitled En el penén 
del vuelo. 


Here in her little room all still and lone 
The things that made her life are greeting 
me. 
It seems as though her body as it went 
Had left a spirit footprint, mindfully. 


-_—~).- 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


760 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: | 


’*Twould seem as in the mirror-moon were| 


shown 


The shadowy glimpse of what she used} 


to be;— 


And sing more sad her bird its caged| 


lament,— 


And through the room her sheen! whisper| 


free— 


Her gilt-edged book of prayers is lying there | 


Upon the table; and it says: “The care’ 


Is small of worldlings—Upon God, i 


ne? 


thine eye! 


I raise my-glance, and in my grief Imoan:—| 


Oh, had T but, that final hour, known 


The anguished sweetness of her last , 


goodbye! 
—Roderick Gill. 


TO THE MOUNTAIN 


Just as soon as Mass is over, 
Put our pious airs away; 
And with luncheon in our baskets, 


To the mountain! To the mountain!} 


To the mountain, for the day! 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MARIANO BRULL 


| Hark, the bells of glory ringing 
| From the belfries of the Spring !— | 
{Sun and sky!—oh, what a blessing - © 
| After gloomy days, they bring! 


_|How the water o’er the mill-wheel 
Rumbles furious and fast, 

_|Bursting through a thousand echoes 
Until—there—’tis gone at last! 


For the woods our hearts are hungry; 
Every bird hears us reply; : 
Incense seems to sweep our bosoms— 
| Tothe mountain! To the mountain! 
To the mountain, let us hie! 


Every grotto holds a secret; 
Every cleft its creed and rite; 

On the slopes is scattered grandeur— 

Hawthorn flowers and crags in sight! 


On the peaks the wind is hymning,— 
Heaven is nigh—the town, far down; 

Ah, why should not human dwellings 

All the free-world mountains crown?— 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


762 |HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


- At the nightfall—with our baskets 
Empty—to the town we haste; 
All the mountain fills with shadows,— 
Spirits of the dreaded waste!— 
—Roderick Gill. 


IV HISPANIC NOTES 


REQUENA LEGARRETA 


PEDRO REQUENA LEGARRETA 


(1893-1918) 
IDYL 


Pepro REQUENA LEGARRETA was born at 
Mexico City of a well-known family. He 
received his education at the Jesuit schools 
of Mexico City and Washington, D. C., 
graduating at the National University, Wash- 
ington, in 1911. Later, political conditions in 
his native country forced him to take up his 
residence in New York, where he devoted 
much of his leisure to literature. He has 
translated some of Rabindranath Tagore’s 
works into Spanish. His poems are in pre- 
paration for publication. 
| 
The opal-breasted morning of the spring 

Searce o’er the meads her luminous urn 

can swing. 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


763 


764 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:| 


When from the nests the tremulous light 
flute ie 
Of songs comes thawing, and the echoes} 
mute 4 


Awake and mingle with the distant brawl 
Of lowing cattle and the shepherds’ call: 


Twould seem that, falling from the morn-|— 
ing’s urn, 
Each ray of light would into singing turn. 


Alone amid the pasture’s splendid breast 
There stands a tree, a shadowy poem blest.| 


Among its prescient leaves there lurks al 
trace 
Of old-world sadness and of pastoral erect 


goyle x 
Of one long branch from out the trl s 
would coil. y 


A-straddle on the branch a maiden rides,|_ 
As though a nymph some haughty centaur | 
guides; 


HISPANIC NO@Ss 


|REQUENA LOGARRETA| 765 


") 


|- 
Blonde is the maid, and naked, tall and fair, | 
‘| With glow transparent as the morning air. 


|A sudden breath along the meadow grass | 
_|Stirs with a kiss the branch ere it would 
a | 
a And she, whom hasty breaths of fever 

Grips the bough tighter with her snowy) 
knees. | 


The while the icy jewels of the dew / 
Send a sharp chill her silken body through. | 


_ |Her locks float back in airy coronal 
_|Above her shoulders, as the dawn rain’s| 
fall; | 


And green and rose the shifting boughs 


appear | 
Like some great butterfly her lips a-near. | 


_ |She sways a moment, then, as some divine 
_|Young nymph that Jove enamored would 
entwine, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY:]| 


i 
' 


Her scarlet kisses all the green bough} 

cover,— 
And the tree trembles,—as it were her| 
lover— ; 


—Garret Strange. 


I WOULD ENFOLD YOUR DEATH | 
AND MINE 


I would enfold your death and mine, as} 
close ; | 

As our two lives have been together] 
bound; 7 

To your dire scar I would conjoin my] 
wound, il 

And bind with yours my fate of joys and 4 
woes. (| 

I would entwine our wills, until yours chose 
To be my partisan forever found; é 
For I have gained your love, and sorrow-| 
crowned, 3 


Like the simoon I gather up your dust 
And heap on high a little pile of trust 

And hope and pain on pain, to call i” ; 
ours; 


HISPANIC NOTES 


| REquENa LEGARETTA | 767 


|Here at the gates of an eternal rest, 

As all our dreams have known the self- 
' same bowers, 
So shall my soul and yours have but one 
‘breast. 


\ 
| 
| 
i 


—Thomas Walsh. 


| AND MONOGRAPHS ba 


768 


q 
HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


LUIS G. ORTIZ | 
(1896=" 77) | 


MY FOUNTAIN a.) 


Harp by the cottage, innocent and free, 
Where swayed my cradle,—near that) 
hidden cot, 

Its ripples overflowing from their grot, 
Bursts forth my fountain, lost in greenery. | 
When the new moon was mirrored radiantly| 
On its clear wave in that sequestered spot, | 
How oft I cried, ‘‘Oh, happy is theirlot | 
Who cross the vast expanses of the sea!” 


It was God’swill that I the deck should tread] 

And find my wish to full fruition grown | 

Amid the billows of the tossing sea. } 

God in the deeps Isaw, and bowed my head;} 

And now, upon the sea, I dream alone 

My humble, sweet and murmurous fount, | 
of thee! 


—Alice Stone Blackwell. 
: f 
HISPANIC NOTES 

f 


MUNOZ MARIN 


MUNOZ MARIN 
(1898- ) 
SYMPHONY IN WHITE 


9 Munoz Marin, the son of Mufioz Rivera, 
_|}was born in San Juan, Puerto Rico, in 1898. 
_|He was educated at Georgetown University, 
_ |Washington, D.-C., and his published works 
_jare Borrones (San Juan, 1917), Madre hara- 
_|posa (San Juan, 1917). His La selva del 
_ |siglo is in preparation. 


-/’Twas midnight when she died; her body 

lay 

White as the wheaten wafer of the priest, 

|What time the heavens were weeping. 

Let us pray, 

O friend and servant, for her soul re- 
leased! 


Good Chaplain, seeing thus her body fair 
And white as was the maiden soul it hid, 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


IV 


770 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


How shall they know in heaven, the angels 
there, 
If welcome to her soul or flesh they bid? 


Her hair was as the gold on sunset heights;| 
Her body framed as vaguely as the dawn; 

It seemed that God to form its pure delights 
Merely a copy of her soul had drawn. 


There in her casket-boards I saw her lie, 
The purer even without Ophelia’s love, 
Stretched all agaze upon the star-lit sky 
In the close shaft that shuts me from 
above. 


Now it is morning, Padre, and the sun 
Is up—the sun that hid behind the 
rain,— 
The sun that yester’s holocaust has done,— 
The sun you know so well,—my sun 
again— 


I fall to meditation, how whene’er 

Some bureaucrat or alms-dispensing dame 
Passes away, the sun is always there 

With share of gold the same!— 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


MUNOZ MARIN 


Tf justice be in God, as light in stars, 

_ Green in the fields, and in the heavens 
blue,— 

| Why for her death across the morning bars 

| Comes not a double dawn or sun in view? 


|The Padre bowed his forehead white and 
old 

| Into the breast of his soutane of black, 

And on his eyelids a slow tear unrolled 

And hung, reflecting the new sunlight 
back. 


—Thomas Walsh. 


MONOGRAPHS 


: 772 
Iv 


INDEX OF AUTHORS 773 


INDEX OF AUTHORS 


'|Alcézar, Baltasar de . < ; Ore 
Aldana, Francisco de : i = 250 
| Alonso X. : : ; WoL 
Alvarez Gato, Juan . 5 : ie BO 
Alvarez Quintero, Joaquin \ 


Alvarez Quintero, Serafin J 637 
Andrade, Olegario Victor . : . 506 
Anonymous: 
| Abenamar . : : r4s 
Flight from Granada : : P37 
Gentle River . ; ‘ ; 5 AG) 
Lord Arnaldos : 4 F Perrso 
Rio Verde. 2 , : e126 
Razon de Amor FL, 
Siege and Conquest of Granada ans 
The Black Glove. MOPA59 
The Candle . ; : . 694 
The Lay of the Cid . ‘ t 4 3 
To Christ Crucified . : ; 261 
Vientecico Murmurador . e 5 7146 
| Villancico, Three Dark Maids . 581 
| Arévalo Martinez, R. 729 
Argensola, Bartolomé Leonardo de. 284 
Argensola, Lupercio Leonardo de 208 
Argote y Géngora, Luis de . ; 2Pt267 
Arguijo, Juan de ; ‘ 34289 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


PAGE 
Arteaga, Fray Hortensio Felis Paravi- 
cino de. : : . : 


Bécquer, Gustavo Adolfo 

Bello, Andrés. : 

Berceo, Gonzalo de 

Betancourt, José (Dmitri Teanovitch) 

Bilac, Olavo ; 

Blanco- Fombona, Rufino 

Blanco White, José Maria . 

Borja, Francisco de (Prince e E squi- 
lache) . : . 

Boscan Almogaver, feos f 

Bretén de los Herreros, Manuel . 

Brull, Mariano . : ; 


Calderén de la Barca, Pedro 
Camoéns, Luis Vaz de 
Campoamor, Ramén de 

Caro, José Eusebio 

Caro, Rodrigo . : 
Carpio, Sister Marcela de . 
Carrasquilla, Ricardo 

Carrére, Emilio . 

Casal, Julian del : 

Castillejo, Cristébal de 

Castro, Rosalia de . F 
Castro y Anaya, Pedro de . , 
Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de . 
Chocano, José Santos 

Civico, Juan Garnero 

Contardo, Luis Felipe : 

Cota de Maguaque, Rodrigo 


HISPANIC NOTES 


INDEX OF AUTHORS 


| 
Davila, Virgilio ‘ : . 704 | 
Davalos, Balbino : : ‘ 70 635 
| Darfo, Rubén : : . 595 
| Diaz Mirén, Salvador : : - 535] 
—— Juandela . : 2 gkIO 
tcilla y Zuniga, Alonso de : Re 
oe Juan ae) ; Sane aie 
Espinel, Vicente ‘ é . 258 
Espronceda, José de . 421 
Esquilache, Prince of ( Francisco de Bor} ja ) 318 
Fernandez de Moratin, Leandro . 374 
Fiallo, Fabio. é : ~ sen 
Figueroa, Francisco de : ; 8 {235 
Fl6res, Julio : : 687 
_ |Gabriel y Galan, José Maria ‘ 3 B23 
Gaspar de Jaén (Gasparillo) ; jn B52 
Gémez de Avellaneda, Gertnidis ~ 434 
‘Gémez Restrepo, Antonio : : +615 
Géngora, Luis de Argotey . : Si 267; 
Gonzales Martinez, Enrique 5 . 640 
Graciadn y Morales, Baltasar : as et 
Gregoria Francisca (Sister) : eae Ee: 
Guillén Zelaya, Alfonso’. E eae isi 
_ | Gutiérrez Najera, Manuel . : - 551 
Haritzenbusch, Juan Eugenio... - 417 
Heredia, José Maria . : : . 405 
| Hernandez Miyares, ei : . 538 
Herrera, Fernando de : - e226 


ry AND MONOGRAPHS | 


HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


PAGE 
Herrera Reissig, Julio o° 683 
Hita, Archpriest of (Juan Ruiz) ye 
Iglesias de la Casa, José. ‘ . 368 
Imperial, Micer Francisco . i . 601 
Iriarte, Tomas de 1370 
Ivanovitch, Dmitri (José Betancourt) . 749 
Jiménes, Juan Ramén : : SEs 
John of the Cross (Saint) . ; . 244 
Jordi de San Jordi, Mossén : ieee 
Juan II of Castile. <. eeO 
Juana Inés of the Cross (Sister) . Seas 1517/ 
Leon, Fray Luisde . : j . 188 
Lillo, Samuel A. ‘ : ; . 699 
Lépez, Luis C. ‘ : : Pay i 
Lépez, René. 3 ‘ -) 746 
Lopez de Ayala, Pero 50 
Lépez de Mendoza, ( Marquis of San- ] 
tullana) . ; 54 
Lugones, Leopoldo ; < ; . 664 
Luna, Alvaro de : : : es 
Machado, Antonio . A ; . 663 
Machado, Manuel . ; . 659) 
Magallanes Moure, Manuel : . 689} 
Manrique, Gomez . : ; Paes (©)! 
Manrique, Jorge ‘ witsse 
Marcéla de Carpi (Sister) . ; . 349 
Maristany, Fernando : ; Pasa 2 
Martin de la Plaza, Luis. . 2) 205 


IV 


HISPANIC NOTES 


INDEX OF AUTHORS 777 


‘Martinez de la Rosa, Francisco . - 395 
Medrano, Francisco ‘de : : 265 
Meléndez Valdéz, Juan i F ot yen 
Melo, Francisco Manuel . : ~347 
Mena, Juan de , 3 2 
Mendive, Rafael Maria de . : - 457 
Menéndez y Pelayo, Enrique. . 562) 
Menéndez y Pelayo, Marcelino . - 547 
Mistral, Gabriela. : ; = 9735 
Montenegro, Ernesto ‘ : - 740} 
Montoto de Sedas, Santiago : - 744 
Montoto y Rautenstrauch, Luis . & 2524. 
Munoz Marin, Luis . : : - 2769 
Munoz Rivera, Luis . : : - 589) 
Najera, Manuel Gutiérrez . < PosGit 
Nervo, Amado . : : - 626) 
Niifiez de Arce, Gaspar i : - 484! 
Ocafia, Francisco de . s ‘ Ee gee 
Ortiz, Luis G. ; : ’ . 768 
Othon, ere José : ; : . 549 
Padr6én, Rodriguez del : : FROG 
Pagaza, JoaquinA . : : =) D6 
io, Manuelde . : : Se AGz 
Palma, "Ricardo 469 | 
Paravicino de Arteaga, Hortensio Felis 
de (Fray). 5 pie 
Pardo, Felipe 415 
Pato, Bulhas_ . : F . 697 
Perés, Ramén Domingo - : . 570 
Pérez-Pierret, Antonio ; : eZ 


AND MONOGRAPHS IV 


778 


| 
HISPANIC ANTHOLOGY: 


IV 


PAGE 
Pezoa Véliz, Carlos . ; ie7OR 
Piferrer y Fabregas, Pablo . ; - 454 
Pierra de Poo, Martina. ; SA TaZ 
Pimentel Coronel, Ramon . 648 
Placido (Gabriel de la Comes Valdés) 431 
Pombo, Rafael . 471 
Poveda, José Manuel : mre ty fe 
Quevedo y Villegas, Francisco de re ger 
Quintana, Manuel José. ‘ » 379 
Requena Lee ,Pedro 763 
Rivas, Duke of, (Angel de Saavedra) 397 
Rodriguez de Tio, Lola. 559 
Rodriguez la Orden, If (Carrasquilla). 540 
Rosas Moreno, José . Pe is 
Ruiz, Juan (Archpriest of Hita) . oo ge 
Saa de Miranda, Francisco de . . 124 
Saavedra, Angel de (Duke a cag .. = 30% 
Saldafia, Diego des : {ae 
Sanchez Talavera, Ferrant . 63 
Santillana, Marquis of (Lépes de Men- 
doza) . 54 
Segura, Juan Lorenzo F 3 i {qe 
Selgas y Carrasco, José . , aegoR 
Sellén, Antonio : : ; EQ 
Silva, José Asuncion . ; : . 581 
Silva, Victor Domingo : F e723 
Silvestre, Gregorio de : 3 a aoe 
Tablada, José Juan . ; ‘ . 644 
Tallante, Mossén Juan 118 


Tassis, Juan de (Count of Villamediana) 320 


HISPANIC NOTES 


=. 


ee 


INDEX OF AUTHORS 


Tejera, Diego Vicente 
Teresa de Avila (Saint) 
Terrazas, Francisco de : L 
Torre, Bachiller Francisco de la . 
Trueba, Antonio de . 


Unamuno, Miguelde . 
Urbina, Luis G 


Valdéz, Gabriel de la Concepcién (Pla- 


Vega Gan to pe Felix de 


Velgas, Juan José 
Venegas de Saavedra, Pedro 
Vicente, Gil 


Villaespesa, Francisco : 

Villegas, Esteban Manuel de 
Villamediana, Count of (Juan de Tassis) 
Violante do Ceo (Sister) 


White, José Maria Blanco . 


Zorilla, José 


AND MONOGRAPHS 


779 


a ee ened 
SRS ans 


HIS PANGS 


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HISPANIC SOCiES 


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906.46 H673D V.4 112507 


OF AMERICA 


